Remnants Enduring
by Errant Knight
Summary: Alistair escaped execution, fleeing to the Free Marches. He tried to drown his sorrow, bitterness and anger with brandy. Now he might have a chance to reclaim something of his life, but he's not feeling trusting. See profile for info on the complete story
1. Chapter 1

(To find the link to the complete story, go to my profile page. I've only posted the prologue here as the full story is illustrated with pictures made with the Dragon Age Toolset, two per chapter, and I'd like those to be seen. All 26 chapters of Part One are up there. Edit: I've decided that I will also post an unillustrated version here-one chapter per week.)

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Prologue

Starkhaven, Three Months After The Landsmeet:

The rain hadn't stopped for days and the crowded tavern smelled like mold, wet wool and sweat. Also smoke, which rose from the pathetic excuse for a fireplace on the back wall, only about half of which was finding its way up the chimney.

Alistair didn't care. He didn't care about anything but the cup of cheap Antivan brandy in his hands. It tasted horrible, but it worked, and he knew from experience that the longer he drank, the less awful it would taste.

Drinking made him feel just a bit number than he otherwise would, and that was just how he wanted to feel. Numb. Uncaring and unfeeling. He wanted oblivion and it was right here in this cup.

Didn't make anything go away, though. Didn't change anything. None of it ever went away. Not asleep. Not awake. Not drunk. Not sober. 'Course, he didn't try sober very often. Hooray for brandy. It's not like there was anything else to cheer for.

How could she have done it? How could she have spared Loghain—a _traitor_—and sided with Anora?

Never mind that she'd debased _every_ Warden when she'd made Loghain one of them, including him, including herself—how could she have done that after everything they'd been through together, what they'd meant to each other…? How could she have done that to him?

Had any of it meant _anything_ to her? If it had…. Maker's blood! She ordered his death!

Why? _Why?_

Alistair took a gulp of his drink, felt it burn all the way to his stomach, and hunched lower over the bar.

_She ordered his death_—he was completely unable to get his head around that. He would have done anything for her—_died_ for her.

Yes. He would have done that, he would have died, but not spared the man who'd killed his brother Wardens, who'd killed Duncan. Not see her honor Loghain and act like it was a _punishment_.

Had she ever loved him?

Couldn't have. Just…not possible, not in any way he could understand. Must have been a lie. A long, cruel lie.

So much for dreams. They were lies, too. Stupid, stupid lies…_that's_ what dreams were.

Alistair's elbow slipped off the bar, and his face almost hit its polished wooden surface. He pushed himself upright and grabbed for his drink, squinting to focus.

Taking another swallow, his thoughts went back to Kallian, and his eyes stung.

His beautiful, beautiful Kallian…. He'd been lying to himself all along. He'd always known he didn't deserve to be so happy.

"Hey, Fereldan! You're in my spot."

Alistair glanced over his shoulder and saw a large man, balding and wearing armor adorned with a ridiculous amount of fur. He had three equally large friends standing behind him. Fur. On armor. Silly. "Guess you'll have to find another spot, friend."

He turned back to the bar, raising his cup to his lips again.

Something hit him in the back of the head, knocking the pewter cup against his teeth, and spilling brandy down the front of his splintmail. Ow, blast it!

Alistair put his cup down carefully, then turned to look at the men again, his eyes narrowing. One possessive idiot in fur wearing a two handed sword, a rogue with daggers, a duel-wielding warrior—mace and war axe, and a fighter whose shield was hastily painted over. Dodgy, that.

The rogue shifted his feet and looked at the man who 'owned' the stool on which Alistair was sitting. "Ah…maybe we should leave this one alone, Gerd."

"No bloody Fereldan is going to sit while I stand. And he's a drunken sot. You scared of a drunk, Abbo? You a coward?"

Abbo scowled at the man in fur. "Piss on you, Gerd. Just not sure it's worth our time, that's all. Like you say—he's drunk."

"He's a drunken _Fereldan_, Abbo. And he took _my_ stool. You can't swing a cat without hitting a Fereldan refugee." Gerd crossed his arms, widening his stance, and staring at Alistair. "My friend has a soft heart, so I'll give you a chance to leave quietly. Get out of here now."

Alistair stood, raising an eyebrow, and crossing his arms to match Gerd's pose. "No."

The effect was slightly spoiled by swaying he couldn't seem to control, but he thought he got his point across. The friends of the fur-wearing ass were all looking a bit unsure now.

Like all good barkeeps, this one sensed trouble brewing and rushed over, waving his arms. "Take it outside, the lot of you! Kill each other in the street, if you must, but I'll have none of it here.

Giving Gerd a hard stare, Alistair swept an arm toward the door to the street, the grand gesture putting him off balance and making him stagger to the side.

Sod it—he was drunker than he'd thought. No matter. The day he couldn't take on four bully-boys like these was the day he deserved to die in a gutter. Holy Maker, he'd fought _dragons_!

Half the people in the tavern followed them from the bar, eager to see a fight. Alistair could hear bets being placed, and noticed that the odds were much against him. He wondered if that was based purely on numbers, or something else.

Oh, wait. It was probably because he was drunk.

As they made their way into the street and the rain that still drizzled down, Gerd said, "I'm surprised you haven't run. Fereldans are cowards, just useless wastes of space unless you want a cheap woman—and even then, you run the risk of fleas. Everyone knows that a Fereldan woman would happily rut with a dog for a few coppers." He laughed, looking at his friends, and more than a few in the crowd laughed, too.

Alistair flushed and took a deep breath. He put his shield on his arm.

The duel wielder called out, "Dumb luck is the only thing Ferelden has going for it. Your Wardens fought like dog piss—couldn't even win the first battle. They probably died while running away, screaming like little girls. 'Ooo, ooo, Save us!' Your gutless king, too. Not like when _we_ fought the Blights! You'd run, too, if you were smart." He elbowed the man with the painted shield. "Right, Derk?"

Derk let out a snicker. "The Fereldan Wardens should have recruited mabari. Less stupid, and when they run from a fight, they have real tails to put between their legs."

Suddenly, Alistair wasn't in Starkhaven, in front of a seedy tavern—he was at Ostagar, his heart pounding with excitement and dread, seeing the archers firing on the horde. He was racing toward the tower of Ishal, seeing soldiers fall as they valiantly battled the darkspawn pouring out. He was fighting toward the beacon, Kallian beside him, in a desperate attempt to summon Loghain's troops. The acrid smoke from torches and darkspawn fires was chokingly thick, making his eyes water, and filling his lungs.

The next moment the smoke was gone, and the same air that had been so pungent was bitingly cold as he looked up at Cailan's body, strung up to rot, all that was left of a brave man betrayed by Loghain and left to die. His king and…his brother.

Without warning, he was falling backwards, a shield slamming into him, the butt of a sword smashing into his head, an armored boot kicking him in the face. Not at Ostagar, not in Ferelden, but in a wet, dirty street in Starkhaven, hearing the laughter of his attackers and the watching crowd.

Rolling to one side, he scrambled to his feet. Alistair shook his head to clear water from his eyes that dripped down from rain-sodden hair. Rage, a vestige of willpower, and the energy that came with battle sharpened his senses.

He spat out the blood that filled his mouth. "You know _nothing_ of Ostagar! _Nothing_ of the Grey Wardens. We were betrayed. _Cailan_ was betrayed. My brother was a good and brave man who deserved better! And Ferelden _still_ managed to keep the Blight from reaching these shores. It's not me who should run. It's you."

Running toward the duel wielder, the one who'd called Cailan gutless, Alistair swung his sword with such force that he heard bone snap as the man tried to block the blow. He spun around to face the rest of them, moving too fast, and not carefully enough for his current state. His legs slipped out from under him and he fell on his side.

Laughter rose around him as Alistair picked himself up.

Derk, the warrior with the painted shield—who had talked of tails between legs, was still laughing when Alistair drove his sword through an un-mended gap in his armor and into his side.

His lips twisting into a smile, Alistair pulled his sword from the man and turned back to the duel wielder, whose broken arm hung limply at his side. The other still held a mace. He lunged at the warrior, delivering a flurry of blows, all aimed at the broken arm.

The duel wielder blocked one with his mace, but the other two hit home, and he let out a shriek of pain, backing away. "Sod this! I yield!"

Alistair whirled toward Gerd, lifting his shield to block a crushing blow, as Abbo tried to maneuver to the rear, daggers poised to strike him from behind.

Knowing that Abbo was more of a danger to him than the slower Gerd, Alistair turned away from the warrior. He struck out with his shield twice, turning Abbo's face into a bloody mess, and then a third time, sending him reeling backward onto the ground.

He was still facing Abbo when Gerd's greatsword struck his armor, breeching the slats of metal at his shoulder, cutting flesh, and driving him to his knees.

Maker's blood, the man was strong…. Alistair got to his feet and stumbled out of the way of a second blow that he didn't have to see to know it was coming. Moving in close to Gerd, leaving the two-handed fighter no room to swing, he struck him in the temple with the pommel of his sword—all he could do at such tight quarters.

When Gerd staggered, Alistair lifted his shield, and put all his force into a hit that knocked the blowhard to the ground. He raised his sword to bring it down on the man's neck, just above the useless fur on his armor.

"Warden!" A commanding voice spoke from the crowd.

Alistair didn't move his sword, but glanced away to see a gray-haired soldier step forward, the scars on his face showing a lifetime of battle.

"You've won, Warden. Honor is served. There's no need to kill the fool."

Alistair looked back to the man on the ground, staring at him—wanting him to know just how close he came to death, then drew back his blade slowly.

Gerd avoided his gaze as he picked himself up without a word. He and his friends limped away, disappearing into the night as quickly as bruised and damaged limbs would allow.

The crowd grew loud, money changed hands as bets were paid off, and they made their way back inside to escape the rain that was coming down harder now, some talking bitterly of wasting their money on Gerd, some gleeful at their windfall.

Turning to the soldier who still watched him, Alistair said, "You called me 'Warden.'"

"You are, aren't you? Whatever these fools think."

"I was." Alistair sheathed his sword and started walking up the street, water from deepening puddles seeping into his boots. "Now I'm not anything at all."


	2. Chapter 2

[Note: Initially, I'd planned on only posting the Prologue here on FF, because I wanted people to go to the story website to read the illustrated version (link is in my profile and all 26 chapters are up there), but it's occured to me that some might have internet connections that make that problematic, or prefer to read the story here, unillustrated, for other reasons, so I've decided to post it one chapter per week. Here is Chapter One.]

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A Village In Orlais, Two Years and Six Months Later

Staring into the mug of ale he'd been nursing for hours, Alistair pushed it back and forth between two fingers. It was warm, flat and unappealing. He only had it because he couldn't sit in the tavern without a drink in front of him, not without attracting more gossip than he did already.

He could only spend so many hours staring at the walls of his room at the cheapest lodging in town, a truly squalid inn, or walking the streets aimlessly.

Looking around the room, Alistair saw people avoiding his gaze, sitting with their backs to him, or glancing over, then leaning close to companions to speak in low tones.

He had no desire for companionship, but it was…uncomfortable. And his own doing.

At least this time, it was by choice and had nothing to do with drinking. Drinking was something he did only lightly these days. And he left brandy alone. That was by choice, too, and yet no choice at all.

Pushing the warm ale away, Alistair leaned against the back of his chair and let out a long sigh.

Those first months, he drank to drown his sorrows and to silence thoughts of "What did I do? Why does she hate me so much? How could it all have gone so wrong?" To quiet the voice in his head that repeated "I've failed at everything—love, justice, duty, all failures," followed by endless examinations of exactly what those failures were, down to the smallest detail, each magnified and dissected beyond bearing.

Later, he'd stopped questioning. Questioning the past never gave answers, it never changed anything—it just hurt. But those questions been joined by something other than conscious thought, bouts of anger and sorrow triggered by the most innocuous of things—a smell, an object, a snippet of conversation…. Little things that gave rise to memories so vivid it was as though he was back in that moment.

There were other memories, normal ones that were just as hard to bear. The times he'd been happy. Could he really have been _that_ happy, that determined, that sure of what he should do—or felt so much like he was part of something so important? Could he really have had so much hope and trust? It was difficult to believe. The difference between then and now was excruciating.

Drinking had been all he could think to do to silence the sights and sounds he was forced to relive, and to quiet the thoughts that repeated again and again and again, like some kind of torture. And drinking sometimes let him sleep. Not always, but sometimes.

So while he'd started drinking in sorrow, he'd continued in desperation.

Drink had proved no release, though. The sleep it allowed gave him no rest. The memories and moods came anyway, and without the self-control that he worked so hard to achieve as a templar. Anger loosed itself in undeserved ways on those who did him no harm, spilling out uncontrolled, leaving shame in its wake.

Oh, Maker, the shame….

Churneau. That was the worst. That was when he realized that he couldn't keep drinking the way he had been.

It didn't matter that it sometimes quieted the thoughts and the memories, on the rare occasions when it actually brought him some relief. It didn't matter that once in a while it almost gave him a kind of peace.

The only thing that mattered was what he'd done.

That day had been spent drinking brandy, cup after cup after cup, and by the time the woman had approached him—an elven prostitute, he'd later found out—he'd literally been blind drunk. Her features were a fuzzy blur.

He'd heard a voice behind him saying "Hey, handsome, how would you like to join me for the night?'

Her choice of words, so close to the ones Kallian had used in camp, must have sent his drunken mind that direction. He could barely make out that it was a red-haired elf who spoke, but that had been enough. When he'd turned, he'd been sure it was Kallian.

The rage that had consumed him was…absolute. He'd never been that angry before, out of control in quite that way.

No questions, no "Why did you betray me?" The idea that she might mock what they'd been to each other—no, what _he'd_ thought they had been—or worse, be such a selfish, thoughtless _bitch_ that she could even consider propositioning him like that, as if he could be led around so easily by desires long gone…. He'd just lost his mind. Entirely.

But it hadn't been Kallian. It was just some poor, desperate whore who'd wandered in off the street, looking for a few coins from drunks.

He'd called her a bitch, screaming that she tried to kill him and made a traitor a hero. Then he'd struck her down with his fists, put his hands around her throat and squeezed as hard as he could. He'd tried to kill her with his bare hands.

He would have, if the other men drinking at that seedy hole hadn't pulled him off her and beaten him senseless.

Alistair leaned on the table, rubbing his forehead with his hand. Maker's blood, if it hadn't been for them and the presence of a healer mage, he wouldn't just have failed at everything he'd ever tried, he'd be a murderer.

By rights, he should have been tried and imprisoned, but the local lord had considered the life of an elven street prostitute to be of little worth and so, after a few days, he'd been escorted to the outskirts of town and released.

Alistair thought that it was a mark of how low he'd fallen that he could feel lucky about something he knew to be so wrong. That only added to his shame.

Life in the next town, Montfort, hadn't worked out, either.

No longer attempting to drown the voices of his past, he'd needed to find ways of dealing with his rebellious mind. He'd pushed his thoughts to other things when he could. When he couldn't, he walked—often late into the night, an alternative to lying awake for hours, thinking thoughts that served only to plague him.

A thin smile stretched Alistair's lips. This was something he didn't mind remembering. Late one night, he'd come across a chevalier attempting to force himself on a townswoman and interceded. He'd dragged the man off her and hit him a few times—okay, more than a few—intending to send him on his way.

That hadn't happened. Caught in the act of rape—early enough to prevent it, thank the Maker—the chevalier had felt his honor besmirched and demanded a duel. Alistair had been astonished. No, shocked. It _still_ shocked him.

No matter. Alistair had killed him and the vagaries of Orlesian honor were then moot.

The woman had vouched for his actions to the guards, and so he'd evaded another stay in jail. The guards were inclined to thank Alistair rather than arrest him, but wanted no trouble from chevaliers. He was escorted to the edge of town again.

And so Alistair came to be in this small town, far from the others he'd been to, well past Val Foret and deep in the woods. He wanted to put some distance between him and any friends of the man he'd killed, no matter how well deserved it might have been.

This was a very small town and that made him stand out all the more. Alistair wasn't sociable, and he didn't want to be. He only talked to people when he had to and he knew full well that he was moody and bad tempered when he did. He also didn't care.

They still hired him to guard caravans and escort them to nearby towns. That was enough, and all he wanted from them. He could fight better than anyone in the area, and they found value in his skill, enough to put up with the fact that he made them uneasy.

Alistair continued to walk the streets late into the night, as had become his habit. An unfriendly man who spent his nights wandering alone in the dark was strange to these people—creepy, even. They clearly thought him potentially dangerous or unbalanced. He couldn't honestly say they were wrong.

Sometimes, Alistair wondered if he _was_ going crazy. Why could he not leave his memories in the past, or control the thoughts whispering that he deserved any torture his mind could give, deserved no happiness? That he should have allowed himself to be executed as Anora had wished?

It would have been so easy to allow himself to be led to Fort Drakon, to bare his neck to the executioner's blade without a struggle.

That wasn't what he'd done. He'd waited for an opportunity, pulled a poor excuse for a blade from a guard's scabbard and fought like a man possessed, filled with anger by Kallian's betrayal and the injustice—oh, Maker, the _injustice_ of it all. _Loghain_ made one with those he'd murdered, and he sent off for execution, finishing the job that Loghain had started at Ostagar, Kallian being the lone exception.

He could have let one of the many patrols find him, made a sound as he hid, belly pressed to the cold ground. He'd thought about it when he realized that each of those patrols left farms and towns unprotected to search for the bastard heir with a price on his head, but even then, he'd wanted to live too much.

Instead he made his way to the coast, seeking passage to the Free Marches from those who would ask no questions. He'd still had gold, enough to buy silence.

Then, his anger had been a clean, righteous thing. It had given him strength and kept despair at bay. That had ebbed away, leaving something else in its place, something that made him wonder how he could go on, if his life was worth the effort.

A strange sorrow pervaded his every moment. The mental leaps into the past were infrequent now, but he still had nightmares. He still had trouble sleeping. His thoughts still gave him no peace.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Alistair thought about _trying_ to sleep, but was held back by fear of where his mind would lead him. He wasn't tired enough, not yet.

"Warden."

Alistair dropped his hands. He recognized the voice of one who had been a friend, but that didn't mean much, not these days. "Oghren. This is a surprise."

"Yeah…. I could use a drink. Or five." Oghren sat on the bench opposite Alistair without waiting for a reply and waved a hand at the serving wench. She was already watching their table. Dwarves were rarely seen in this remote part of Orlais.

"Does this mean that you're not here to kill me, or just that you'd rather not do it thirsty?"

Oghren turned back to Alistair, his brows pulling low. "Guess you don't have reason to trust me."

"Or anyone, really. Can you blame me? Last time I saw you, my lady love had spared Loghain, chosen Anora to rule and voted for my execution. Oh, and the rest of my 'friends' watched me get dragged off to my death without lifting a finger."

The memory of that moment, vivid and immediate, filled his mind, but he pushed it away with a force of will. "That kind of camaraderie, well, it's worth a little Blight, isn't it? Heartwarming." Alistair made a fist and tapped it against his chest.

They fell silent as the barmaid brought Oghren's ale. She raised her eyebrows and gestured toward Alistair's mug, but he shook his head. This conversation was tempting him away from moderation, but he needed a clear head for this. Maker only knew why Oghren would seek him out after all this time if it wasn't to kill him.

As the wench moved away from them, Oghren leaned forward. "I didn't believe it, you stupid nughumper! I thought it was another one of her sodding clever plans. I couldn't make any sense of it, but I _trusted_ her!" Shaking his head, he took a deep drink from his mug before putting it down heavily. "Sod it…."

He gave Alistair a glance before looking away. "You and the Warden, you were…. We thought she…. Andraste's tits! I didn't think any of it was real. Couldn't be."

"What? No comments about rolling oats with the boss or tapping the midnight still? How very delicate you've become."

"Yeah, that's me. Mealy-mouthed Oghren." He let loose a loud belch. "I'm not a complete bastard." Oghren drained his mug and slammed it down. "And if you say 'no, that's me,' I'm going to backhand you across the room. That's not funny anymore, either."

Wiping a hand across his mouth, Oghren looked at Alistair. "We went back to Eamon's expecting to mount a rescue, but there was no plan. Then word came—you were dead. The Warden didn't bat an eye."

Alistair turned away and took a quick drink of his warm ale. Maker help him, how could that still hurt? He'd joked about fooling her, but he was the one who'd been a fool. Placing the mug on the table, he turned it slowly with one hand and kept his gaze low, unwilling to let Oghren see that he was no less a fool now. "After what we saw of dwarven politics, do you really expect me to believe you don't know treachery when you see it?"

"You're surfacers. I didn't think you had it in you. And I didn't expect the Warden to go Branka-crazy and start throwing her house to the darkspawn."

Alistair's mouth tightened. "Why are you here, Oghren?"

"To deliver this."

A sealed letter landed in front of him bearing the Mac Tir seal. Anora. But why hadn't she used the royal seal she'd done so much to make her own? Alistair picked it up with the care reserved for something poisonous.

_Alistair—_

_I will not ask if this letter finds you well, as after all that has passed between us, such pleasantries would be hollow at best. Instead, I will be brief and to the point. Ferelden has need of your services. I can say no more here as the possibility of this letter falling into the wrong hands makes such disclosures far too dangerous. _

_I assure you that this is no ploy, but the result of a dire situation which must be addressed with all haste. Believe me when I say that were there any other I could turn to in this, I would. While I realize your desire to aid me must be small indeed, I appeal to what love of your country remains in your heart._

_If you return, your life will not be in danger, should you be willing to address certain issues which have arisen. In any case, the majority of Ferelden believes you dead, which should minimize any potential difficulties you may encounter on your return._

_I leave this letter unsigned, again for reasons of security, but know you will have recognized this seal. _

Alistair stared at the fine parchment in his hand, a myriad of emotions warring with each other. The page wavered in his hand. The gall, the absolute arrogance of the woman! He started laughing, tight and unfamiliar at first. He laughed until tears ran down his face and his stomach ached. Dropping the letter, Alistair wiped his eyes and looked at Oghren.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Something sodding funny, but no one shared the joke with me, duster."

"Anora says she wants my help. In return, she promises not to kill me. How very magnanimous of Her Royal Majesty. How very…."

The memory he'd tried so hard to escape just minutes before surged back into his mind. He heard Anora ordering his execution. He saw his friends, his comrades-in-arms, shocked, yes, but still and silent, too—no hand reaching for a sword, no one leaping forward to come to his defense as he would surely have done for them. But what he remembered most vividly was the beautiful, beloved face of his fellow Warden, Kallian Tabris, as she betrayed him yet again, backing that order and agreeing without hesitation.

Suddenly the room seemed too hot, too loud, too small. He had to get out. Alistair dropped the letter and rushed from the tavern into the cold, clear night.

Walking quickly, he headed out of the town, away from light, away from people—away from Oghren and the past he brought with him. He'd gone some distance before he realized that someone had fallen into step beside him, someone who moved silently and had approached like a shadow. Oghren didn't come alone. He knew who it would be before he turned his head.

"Leliana." The moonlight lit her face and the warm expression he saw there. It reminded him of better times—and sparked anger so strong he could hardly breathe.

"Hello, Alistair. It is very good to see you."

"Is it?" He turned back to the road ahead, but not before he saw the hurt on her face. Andraste's flaming sword! She must think him as stupid as Morrigan had. He lengthened his stride, ignoring the fact that she had to break into a jog to keep up.

"Of course! We thought…. Alistair, stop!"

He pulled up short and swung around to face her.

"We thought you were dead. It was horrible, but the armies were waiting at Redcliffe, the darkspawn were marching on Denerim. We had to stay. All those people, they were depending on us. It had all gone so wrong, so very wrong, but we had to stay. I wished you were with us, I wished they hadn't…. I missed you, Alistair. I was so very glad when Oghren told me you'd escaped."

"Oh, well, as long as you wished I wasn't dead! That's all right then, isn't it? I'm so relieved. You _missed_ me? By the Maker!"

"Alistair, Kallian betrayed all of us. I thought we were there to support you, to make you king! We all did!"

Raising a hand, he stepped closer and pointed a finger at her. "Don't! Do you have any idea how infuriating that is? Don't you dare tell me how betrayed you were! Betrayed enough to raise your voice against Kallian? Betrayed enough to take a stand? No. You didn't think I was dead because you heard a rumor in a tavern, you thought I was dead because you stood there and watched me get hauled away, without doing a thing to stop it.

"You argued to free a maleficar responsible for loosing abominations when we were in the tower, and you argued to free a blood mage at Redcliffe. But when Kallian decided I should be executed, you were completely silent!

"Tell me, Leliana, was it different when you got back to Eamon's? Did you say anything then? Did anyone? Holy Andraste! Morrigan went on about _me_ being a follower, but at least I called Kallian on bad decisions, I objected, I told her how I felt. Did you? Did _any_ of you?"

Leliana wrapped her arms around herself. "No. You didn't see her, Alistair. There was no talking to her. And it was too late. Too late…." Tears started running down her face. "And at the Landsmeet—they wouldn't have listened to us! An Orlesian, a dwarf, a qunari murderer, an apostate witch, and a mage? Which of us do you think could sway them? The nobles voted to support the Warden, and she said you should be executed."

Alistair's hand cut through the air between them. "You don't speak out against things that are wrong because people will listen! You do it because those words need to be said!"

His arm dropped to his side. "It doesn't matter now. You're right—it's too late." He pushed past her and started back toward town. "Let's go find Oghren. I want to know what's been happening in Ferelden."

* * *

"…then the darkspawn carried off all the Orlesian Wardens—"

Alistair raised both hands, stopping Oghren's recounting of events since the Landsmeet. "Wait, what? Carried them off where? And how do you know about this part?"

He'd managed not to interrupt right through Loghain killing the archdemon—and that was hard—but this? It didn't make any sense. The horror that was darkspawn reproduction would have explained the abduction of women, but this carrying off all Wardens was new.

"I know because I was going to join the Wardens. I went to Amaranthine about the time this all started."

"Why? Because Kallian made it look like so much fun?" Alistair's lip curled.

Oghren glared at him from under lowered brows. "Because I didn't want to be in Anora's army, you sodding mosslicker. Why do you think? It's not like I could go back to Orzammar, or become a tailor."

"Oh. I…. Okay. Carry on, then."

"I went to Amaranthine and hung around for a while waiting for them to have this 'Joining' thing. Got to know a few people. Decent, most of them. Good people to drink with, but when the new Warden-Commander showed up, it was Kallian. I changed my mind and took off. Probably wasn't real subtle about why, either.

"Some of this is rumor that made its way to Denerim. The rest—like I said, I got to know some people. Kept in touch, sent them some choice liquor to make them grateful and asked questions. It took some doing, and some time, but I got most of it out of them. Probably wouldn't have been able to if they hadn't been unhappy about what happened. It got ugly.

"There were these darkspawn who could talk. They were made by one who called himself the Architect, and he made the talking ones by feeding them Grey Warden blood—"

Alistair's eyebrows shot up. _"What?"_

"This would go a whole lot sodding faster if you didn't interrupt."

"Sorry." As Alistair turned his attention to the large platter of cheese and fruit that Leliana had ordered to her room, a better place to have this conversation than the boisterous tavern, he listened, and grew more and more disturbed. Talking darkspawn, one who actually _named_ himself, plotting to end the Blight with a sort of reverse Joining…. Vigil's Keep all but destroyed, Amaranthine burned, the countryside laid to waste and rampant famine. How could something so relatively small compared to the Blight have gotten so out of hand?"

He looked across the table at Leliana, who looked as shocked as he felt. Was she hearing some of this for the first time? It wouldn't surprise him. Oghren wasn't the sharing type.

Oghren picked up the bottle of Orlesian brandy that sat next to the platter, filling a large glass to the brim. He took a gulp and continued. "It's just what I heard, but when they'd got past the dragon and the armored ogres, they met up with the Architect. He offered them a deal. He helps with the talking broodmother, and they let him go to keep doing what he's doing."

"Uh, I'm just going to go right past the 'armored ogres' because I don't want to think about it right now, so…what was the Architect doing again? I'm not completely clear on that."

"He was feeding Warden blood to darkspawn so they wouldn't hear any archdemons and get called to raise a Blight. He wanted to end the Blights so darkspawn wouldn't get killed." Oghren scowled at him from across the table. "I already told you that."

"We can hear archdemons—and we're full of Warden blood."

"So?"

"We can already sense each other, Wardens and darkspawn, and we can both hear archdemons. Shouldn't they be drinking normal blood? If drinking darkspawn blood makes us hear the archdemons, wouldn't drinking the blood of people who don't hear anything work better? Not that I think that's a good idea."

"By the tits of my ancestors! I don't know why drinking Warden blood works! It just does, all right?"

Leliana's infectious laughter filled the air. "This is nice, is it not?"

The only responses that came to Alistair's mind were hurtful and he was surprised to find that he didn't want to give them voice. He frowned and dropped his gaze.

Oghren grunted. "It's a sodding party. Now do you want me to finish or not?"

Alistair glanced up and nodded. "So, the Architect wanted a deal so he could keep making darkspawn into…something else, something more intelligent, that couldn't hear archdemons. And then?"

"The Warden took the deal."

"She…took the deal." Kallian took the deal—knowing that the Architect planned on harvesting blood from Wardens, knowing he was making darkspawn intelligent, able to plan strategies against them.

"The Architect promised to keep the darkspawn away from the surface, reducing attacks."

"Well, as long as he promised. If you can't trust a talking darkspawn, who can you trust?"

"Did I say I thought it was a good idea, duster? Turns out he started the last Blight, too. Accidentally woke up the archdemon while trying to feed it Warden blood."

Alistair pushed his chair back and stood. "Maker's breath!" He started pacing, restless with the desire to somehow go back in time and fix it all—everything he'd heard. "Where is the Architect now, do they know?"

Oghren shook his head. "No sign of him. It looks like he retreated into the Deep Roads."

"And rest of the darkspawn?"

"The raids have almost stopped. No large attacks, just a few stragglers here and there."

"For now." Alistair shook his head. "The Architect will need a lot more Warden blood if he plans on giving it to all the darkspawn. I don't think there is that much Warden blood. Worse, he might keep trying to give it to whatever the dragons—old gods or whatever they are."

He went to the table and leaned on the back of his chair. "Leliana, assuming there's a shred of truth in Anora's letter, and I'm not saying I believe that, what might she be talking about?"

"I have no idea, Alistair, but it's interesting that she believes the problem to be one only you can solve. You have an unusual combination of attributes. You are a templar who is free of the Chantry. You are a Theirin—the only Theirin. You are one of very few Fereldan Wardens and the only one Joined before the Blight. Whatever it is that she wishes of you, I believe it will be related to at least one of these things."

His lips twisted. "I think we can rule out my Theirin blood. Anora doesn't place much value on the Calenhad line." He looked from Leliana to Oghren. "Well, whatever Anora wants, it's her responsibility, not mine. She made sure of that. And there's nothing I can do about what happened in Amaranthine now, so…have a good trip back to Ferelden." Alistair pushed the chair in, banging it against the edge of the table.

"If you don't care, why are you here? Why did you want to know all this?"

"Curiosity, Leliana. Simple curiosity—the natural product of a Chantry education."

"I don't believe that, Alistair. I know how much you care about people—I know how much it hurt you to abandon Lothering to its fate." Leliana picked up Anora's letter and held it out. "Would you deny Anora's request, knowing that you might prevent further harm?

"We let you down and you must hate us for it, but do you hate the people you wished to rule?" She put the letter down and pushed it toward him. "You said you hoped to do some good. Did Kallian's treachery remove the duty you felt toward them?"

"Ah, yes, duty…. It worked very well for me, don't you think? And thanks for going there, Leliana. A little guilt, an appeal to duty, a swift kick in the family jewels to follow the knife in the back. Good job! I'm so glad you're here."

Leliana stood. "I'm not wrong, am I?"

Alistair put his hands on the table and leaned forward. "Why do you care if I go back? Did Anora offer you a nice bonus if you can march me into her court?"

"I don't care about money! We didn't agree to find you for _money_!"

"Then why do you want me to go back when it might get me killed?" Alistair tapped the letter with two fingers. "There's no reason to believe this isn't some trick of Anora's to get me back to Ferelden so she can hold a nice public execution, with all of her followers waving little flags and marching my head around on a pike."

"You aren't happy here, Alistair! I'm not going to let you get killed—neither is Oghren."

"Right. Problem solved!"

Oghren slammed his hand down. "By my ancestors, surfacers love to hear their own voices!" He looked at Alistair. "It's simple. Do you want to sit on this steaming pile of nug droppings you've got for a life, or do you want to take a risk? Your choice, duster."

Walking over to a window overlooking the street, Alistair stared down at the small town below. Did he want this to be the rest of his life—guarding traders' wagons and mourning the past, as dead to purpose as if he'd let Anora kill him? "Steaming pile of nug droppings" was exactly right. He didn't have much to lose.

Neither Oghren nor Leliana seemed too friendly with Anora or Kallian. They might be telling the truth. Anora might even be telling the truth, and if so…. Andraste's mercy, maybe he could do one good thing without failing. "When do you want to leave?" He turned away from the window and went back to the table. "I have work coming up next week, but I can cancel it if you have enough money for my passage."

Leliana jumped up and rummaged through a pack near the door, returning with a small pouch in hand. She tossed it to the table, where it landed heavily. "You have enough money for your passage. Anora sent this with the letter."

He glanced at her, eyebrows raised, then opened the pouch. Gold. A lot of gold—at least a hundred sovereigns. "Well. Look at that. I almost hate her a little less." He took one sovereign out, closed the pouch and pushed it back toward Leliana. "Can you hold onto it for me until tomorrow? The inn where I stay isn't as nice as this one."

"Certainly, Alistair. But why do you not stay here? There are rooms available."

Alistair shook his head. "I have to pick up my things, anyway. I'll see you in the morning." He walked to the door, then stopped and faced them. "I…. Good night."

Turning back to the door, he opened it and went out into the hall. He couldn't figure out how he felt. Good, bad, confused, angry and a host of other things.

It didn't matter. He knew better than to trust feelings—or people who called themselves 'friends.'


	3. Chapter 3

Note: First I was only going to post the prologue to Remnants Enduring here and let people go the illustrated version for the rest (link on my profile page-all chapters posted), then I was going to post it once a week. Change of plans. I'll be posting at least once a week, but also on thursday or friday, if I can. So without further ado-Chapter Two.

* * *

Swinging his legs onto the bed, Alistair pulled a blanket over himself and tried to relax. His thoughts were going places he didn't want to go. Seeing Leliana and Oghren made things he worked hard to push away feel like they'd just happened. Talking to them made his anger feel new and made him miss the companionship he'd once shared at the same time. How was that even possible?

He needed to get at least a little sleep. They had a long journey ahead of them and tomorrow would just be the beginning. Not that he wasn't used to long journeys.

After a glance at his pack by the door, Alistair closed his eyes. At least there was no packing to be done. It had been brought home to him that you never really knew where you stood at any given moment, let alone trust that the situation would be the same at nightfall as it was at dawn. His pack was always ready to go—he was ready to leave at a moment's notice. That worked out fine since he'd never really stopped traveling, not since Loghain's betrayal at Ostagar.

He'd traveled all over Ferelden gathering an army to fight the Blight and had spent most of that journey thinking he'd stay with Kallian when it was all over.

Arl Eamon changed that. He'd been determined to see Maric's only remaining son become king, bastard though Alistair was. Eamon saw that as the best option to end the civil war, continue the royal legacy, and unite Ferelden against the Blight.

Alistair turned onto his side and pounded his lumpy pillow.

That really hadn't been what he wanted. Not at all. It had never been what he wanted. He just wasn't a person who craved power and control—and he'd been told right out that he wasn't capable for as long as he could remember. He was supposed to follow orders, not give them.

Turning onto his back again, Alistair stared up at the ceiling. He'd believed that he couldn't lead, and had little reason to think that wasn't true, not until Kallian had made him look at things differently—there was some irony in that—but he'd seen the lengths to which Anora would go to achieve her goals.

While her methods were far short of Loghain's forays into treason, slavery and poisoning, they came from the same view of the world. She was her father's daughter—certain that ends justified means. Anora thought she was the only person who could properly decide what those ends and means should be, and she did so with a chilly, almost casual assurance that made Alistair uneasy.

No one should be that certain about making decisions that would affect people's lives…that might destroy people, even whole towns like Lothering. They should be worried about the people they were responsible for. Maker's blood! They should be terrified!

It made him believe that she didn't think about those people much at all, not as real people, more like some vague concept of the 'people of Ferelden'—her vassals. Small, unimportant pieces of a larger puzzle. It was all very well to see the larger picture, but the people were important, too. Ferelden was the people, not a tract of land or a concept.

Alistair's mouth twisted. It was laughable that he'd believed that he was a better choice, though. That was as clear as the need to keep his bag packed and trust no one. He hadn't even known that his lover wanted him dead. So much for having any insight. So much for being the kind of person who could rule.

And he still didn't know why she'd done it. He'd loved her right up until the moment she'd spared Loghain and agreed to his execution. Maker, dreams could die so quickly.

He'd willfully ignored the truth. He'd clung to hopes. Foolish and impossible hopes. Alistair realized that now. On some level he'd known that, refusing to discuss matters that would have forced him to look at things clearly.

Raising a hand, Alistair rubbed tired eyes. He would have had to marry and marriage to Kallian would have been impossible. He wouldn't have had a choice. It would have been his duty to try for an heir, and the odds of two Wardens conceiving a child were just about zero. Continuing with Kallian wouldn't have been fair to her, or to the queen he would have had to find.

Still, they might have been able to get past such a private issue. Perhaps there were more of Calenhad's line still living than they knew. He could have had people look, at least before marrying, but there was more to it than that.

Kallian was an elf.

He was a bastard and that would have been bad enough, but a bastard king with an elven queen? It couldn't happen. The Landsmeet would never have accepted it—and Alistair had wanted to be king by that time, Maker help him.

No, "wanted" was the wrong word. He'd believed it was his duty. He'd wanted to help people and he'd come to believe that with work he could rule well.

It might have been just _slightly_ less stupid and awful if he'd anticipated what Kallian would do, but he hadn't. He hadn't let himself think about the future at all. Not further than bringing Loghain to justice and doing his duty to Ferelden, things he'd thought Kallian saw the same way.

He'd kept hoping that there'd be a way out for them, some joyous shifting of the world that would make sharing his life with her possible. He'd hoped for a miracle and ignored niggling fears that he wouldn't find one. By Andraste, that joke was on him. What a mockery those fears of a future without her had been! What an idiot he was.

The world had shifted, all right, but not joyously, not for him. If he'd seen into the future, he would have done a few things very differently, but he hadn't foreseen that the woman he loved might decide that killing him was a fine idea.

Alistair threw the blanket off and sat up, feet on the floor. He bent over, putting his elbows on his knees and rubbed his forehead with both hands. Anora had the throne—she'd won, with Kallian's help. Alistair hoped very much that he'd been wrong about the kind of queen Anora would be.

He no longer knew what kind of person Kallian was.

Dropping his hands, Alistair stared into the darkness of his small room. At least he hadn't given them the pleasure of killing him as they'd hoped. Instead of dying, he'd escaped to across the sea, entirely alone for the first time…ever, really. And in ways that had nothing to do with being solitary.

Then more travel, but so very different than his journeys in Ferelden.

Kirkwall to Wildervale to Starkhaven, then away from the Free Marches through Cumberland and into Orlais at Val Chevin, taking work as a hired sword everywhere he went. And drinking.

He got enough work to live, but just barely. There were things that he just wouldn't do, then or now, and those were the kind of things that were most often offered to a man with no past.

The work he'd found here was honorable at least. He still had no past, but he was no longer a hard drinker, prone to violent outbursts. They knew he was capable and while they thought him odd, they didn't think he'd kill them on the road.

Maker. What a life. The best he could say about it was that people were fairly confident that he wasn't a cold-blooded killer. He'd gone from the last heir of Calenhad's blood to…_this_.

And now he was going back to help a woman who'd done her best to kill him, with people he wasn't completely sure wouldn't try to do the same.

Alistair stood and went to the door, more tense and awake now than when he'd lay down to sleep. Maker's breath, the more you tried not to think about something, the more you did! So much for rest. Maybe if he walked for a while….

* * *

Traveling with Leliana and Oghren again felt like reliving the past in a tarnished mirror. Where once he would have trusted them without question, now betrayal seemed more likely than not. But some things were better. There was no Blight, no civil war. There were no animals acting against their nature, attacking anything in sight. No darkspawn, no werewolves, no soldiers searching for Wardens to kill.

It was peaceful…and weird. It made Alistair nervous, like something really bad was about to happen. That probably said something about him.

He walked well ahead of them. What did you say to people who just watched when someone tried to kill you? Maybe Leliana was right, and they couldn't have done anything. Maybe it was as Oghren had said—they'd trusted Kallian that much, but it still didn't make him nostalgic for old times.

Their presence was still taking Alistair's thoughts back to those times, bringing things to mind that he didn't want to think about, although he was about as successful at that as everything else he'd ever done.

By the time they stopped to eat a simple meal of bread and cheese, washed down with ale that Oghren had bought in town, Alistair was in a truly foul mood.

It didn't help that Leliana kept staring at him—uncomfortable _and_ irritating.

Finding himself hunched over his meal with his shoulders so tight they were up around his ears, Alistair forced himself to relax. He couldn't let traveling with them bother him so much, or this would be a very long trip.

Leliana seemed to take that change in posture as an invitation of sorts, because she started talking. "Did you go to Val Royeaux, Alistair? Did you see the Grand Cathedral?" Her face was bright with remembered pleasure.

He had. He'd gone there hoping for some peace, to lose himself in the beauty that she'd spoken of so long ago. And it _was_ beautiful, the most beautiful building Alistair had ever seen. But he'd found no peace, no sense that the Maker had some plan for him that he couldn't comprehend, no divine revelation to guide his steps. He was as lost there as he was in a tavern or anywhere else he found himself. "Yes."

She was smiling at him, that happy expression still on her face, waiting for him to say more.

"It was very nice. As grand as its name." Alistair stood, brushing bread crumbs from his clothes. "We should go. I'd like to reach the Imperial Highway before dark." Pulling on his pack, he moved back to the road and waited, staring east toward the distant highway.

After that, Leliana wouldn't leave him alone. Not for one blight-ridden moment for the rest of the day. It was "Where did you go, Alistair?", "What did you do?" and "Which do you like better, Orlais or the Free Marches?" As if he'd been on a blasted holiday!

Poke, poke, poke. One question after another, and no matter how short his answers, she kept at it. Maker's breath! Couldn't she tell he didn't want to talk about it? _Any_ of it?

Even Oghren could tell, and gave Leliana a look like she was prodding a mabari with a stick.

She just wouldn't let up. Now she was rambling on about helping Brother Genitivi transcribe the carvings in the first hall of the temple that guarded the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

The temple….

That temple had been the second time that Alistair had seen a side of Kallian that should have given him a warning. The second time, and so close on the heels of the first—what she'd wanted to do at Redcliffe.

There, she would have been quite happy to sacrifice Eamon's wife to save his son and rid the boy of the demon that possessed him—using blood magic. Oh, she'd had plenty of reasons—it was risky to take the time to go to the circle, it was all Lady Isolde's fault to begin with—but the ease with which she'd made that choice…. He should have paid attention to that.

And in the temple, when the leader of the dragon cult, Kolgrim, had asked them to taint the ashes, she'd actually considered it. After all they'd gone through to find the ashes, knowing that the ashes were supposed to be able cure all illness, no matter how grave, she'd been willing to taint them to gain cultist blood magic—keeping a few for herself, of course.

He'd been able to sway her, both at Redcliffe and at the temple, but…he should have learned something. He should have known that there was a problem that he couldn't reason away like her desire to sacrifice Lady Isolde or make deals for blood magic.

It had been much harder to convince her not to taint the ashes than to go to the mage's circle for help and Alistair had wondered why. Both were obvious choices to him. 'Just a notion, but let's not kill the arl's wife with blood magic since we have a _choice_' and 'Hey, what say we don't taint the most holy relic in existence—one that can cure people, to boot'

Seriously, he couldn't understand why she even considered either. Yes, leaving Redcliffe had been a risk, but now he thought that she just might not have cared that much, whatever happened. What Kolgrim asked was different. Turning him down meant losing power, and she hadn't been concerned that the power would come from blood magic.

Looking back, it all seemed so obvious, but then, with the Blight looming over them, hunted by Loghain's men and assassins, he'd been able to convince himself that there was justification, even if he didn't agree.

He should have questioned her more, shouldn't have made excuses. Maybe he could have kept it all from going so wrong. Maybe he could have changed things. Maybe he could have—

"Tell me, Alistair, what have you missed most about Ferelden? We will have to arrange that for you right away."

Leliana reached out as if to take his arm and he backed away, raising a hand.

"That's enough! That's just…enough." Alistair dropped his hand. "What do I _miss_? I miss having a life, I miss not looking for the knife that's going to come out of nowhere, I miss not knowing that somewhere, someone is hoping to kill me, and it might just be someone I like.

"Maker's breath, Leliana, what do you think I miss? Baked goods and Fereldan handicrafts? Good fur lined boots? I don't want to talk about Ferelden. I don't want to talk about Orlais. I don't want to talk about the Free Marches. I don't want to talk about _anything!_ Why in Andraste's name won't you leave me alone?

Leliana's eyebrows pulled together, etching sharp lines between her eyes, and she put her hands on her hips. "I care about you, Alistair, and I will not leave you _alone_, no matter how much you might wish it! You have already been too alone for too long." She tapped her head. "You live in here and nowhere else. It's not good and it's hurting you, I can see that. I'm not let you _stay_ alone with us."

Alistair glared at her for a moment, completely unable to think of any response, and then said, "You'll have to." With that, he turned away and sped up his pace to put some distance between them again.

She could have caught up, Alistair knew that, but she didn't. Well…good.

* * *

Even though they'd gotten an early start and made good time, it was plain that they wouldn't reach the Highway until well past dark. They set up camp in a clearing off the road and made a simple dinner of roasted meat bought in town that morning, reheated on the fire.

Alistair didn't want them to think they couldn't say anything to him at all—he just didn't want Leliana picking at him, so he told them what he knew about dangers on this stretch of road, mostly small groups of bandits preying on travelers.

They set up a watch schedule and Alistair volunteered to take the second, then went to bed right after eating. He didn't like the way sitting around the campfire made him feel or what it made him remember. He didn't like the awkward silence that he'd created, but he didn't want to talk, either. He was tired of wondering if this was just another betrayal and, once again, he was too stupid to know it.

Alistair lay on his bedroll, looking at the stars late into the night, sleep eluding him, and tried not to remember other nights in camps he'd shared, when he neither felt nor slept alone.

They reached the highway the next morning and started north. That spark of hope Alistair had felt back at the inn when he'd agreed to take a chance on Anora's summons was getting hard to hold onto. He couldn't help but feel like he was ignoring the obvious—fooling himself when the smart thing to do would be run like the Maker had given him wings.

When they stopped for their midday meal, he took his food and walked away, staring down from the highway into the trees below while trying to convince himself that he wasn't journeying toward execution. Anora could have meant what she said in her letter. Leliana and Oghren could be telling the truth, at least as far as they knew. This _could_ be his last chance to do something worthwhile. It just seemed so…lucky, and anything that had ever been lucky had turned out to be anything but. Maker, he was a slow learner. He just asked for it again and again—and this time would be no different, just because he couldn't bear to lose this chance.

When they made camp that night, Alistair ate as quickly as possible then picked up his sword and shield. "Uh…lots of bandits around here. I'll just…" He waved a hand toward the edge of camp and headed away from the camp.

As he left, he heard Leliana's voice. "Oghren, we can't let this go on."

"Leave him be, Leliana. He's here. That's enough for now."

* * *

The day that followed was much the same. Walking, eating, watches—it began to seem routine. Alistair started to feel a little more comfortable with his companions now that Leliana was forgoing her inquisition. No more sure of them, but it wouldn't do to let that show, would it? If he was going to do something stupid, at least he could do it in a smart way.

With that in mind, he stayed at the campfire that night and let Oghren give him an ale. He listened to their conversation and watched for signs of duplicity. He didn't see any—but would he? He'd seen no such signs from Kallian, either.

_

* * *

_

_Tall grass slapped against his legs. Roots grabbed at his feet as he ran toward the river. _

_His breath was loud in his ears—the panting gasps of a man who'd run for too long. _

_He could hear them in the distance. His pursuers—Anora's guards, soldiers and tracking dogs. He couldn't shake them. _

_Maybe they'd lose his scent here. He'd go into the river and hope for the best. He could only run for so long. The sharp pain in his side and the shaking in his legs—he was almost done in. Had to lose them here. Had to._

_No moon, that was good. They couldn't see him. _

_There was the bank—he made it. Thank you, merciful Andraste! _

_Alistair threw himself over the edge, running, stumbling, falling into the water. _

_Oh, Maker! So cold! His breath froze in his chest and he forced himself to keep breathing by effort of will. Breathe, sod it—move!_

_He waded out into the river then swam for the other side, letting the current carry him further downstream—closer to the sea, to escape, and to freedom._

_Stay in the water—no scent…. Stay…moving faster than running…. Stay…. No. Enough. Have to get out. Too cold. Hard to swim. The current…too strong._

_Alistair used the last of his strength to fight his way out of the current and drag himself to the bank. He crawled through the mud and weeds, collapsing on the shore, his teeth chattering, his body shivering._

_He'd made it. Thank the Maker, he'd made it. _

_As soon as he could move, he'd go north east to the shore. He couldn't follow the river—it would take him to the Howe estate and they were certain to have no love lost for the bastard heir who'd killed Rendon Howe. _

_When he struggled to his feet, his legs shook and he barely managed to pull himself to the top of the bank._

_A stick cracked. Nearby, in the trees. Alistair's heart jumped. _

_He saw movement. A shadow came forward. _

"_Alistair, we found you at last! Praise Andraste!"_

_Leliana! Who was that with her? Oghren—and he was smiling._

_They hadn't abandoned him—they hadn't turned against him like Kallian. He wasn't alone. "I thought you'd all…. I…. Maker's breath…." Alistair's legs buckled, exhaustion and relief sapping what remained of his strength. He dropped to his knees, his vision blurring._

_Leliana spoke again, close this time. "You thought what, Alistair? That we'd betrayed you?" She laughed, the lilting giggle he'd heard so often before. "We did."_

_Pain ripped through him. Not the pain of betrayal that he'd felt every moment since the Landsmeet, but a blade. _

_Alistair tried to get to his feet, to pull his sword. His arm wouldn't work. It hung limply at his side. He turned his head to see her holding a dagger, his blood dripping from it._

_She kicked him in the face. Alistair's head snapped back and he fell to the ground._

_Still smiling, Oghren swung his battle axe. The giant blade sped down toward his head—_

"No!"

The struggles of his dream moved his waking body so that Alistair was sitting bolt upright, his breath heaving in his lungs, when his eyes opened to see Leliana and Oghren staring at him.

Oh…Maker.

Alistair threw off his blankets—no easy thing since he'd thrashed around to the point of knotting them around him—and walked away from the fire, into the night. He stopped only to grab his sword.

* * *

It was early evening the next day when they reached Val Foret. If it had just been Alistair and Oghren traveling through Orlais, they could have gone into town and stayed at an inn, but since Leliana was with them, they decided to leave the highway at the exit on the far side of the city to camp for the night.

Leliana was still believed a traitor to her country, and thought she might be recognized in a town that did so much trade with Val Royeaux and where she had spent as much time as she had. While Alistair thought that unlikely after all this time, he didn't say anything. He knew how she felt.

As they headed down the ramp and into the forest, Alistair was still thinking about Leliana and this…_thing_ they had in common. They'd both been betrayed by someone they loved, he by Kallian, Leliana by her mentor, Marjolaine. It was Marjolaine who'd been the real traitor and had framed Leliana for the crime.

Leliana had loved her. She'd never said exactly what their relationship was, but it didn't matter, did it? Love was love when it came to betrayal—friend, family or lover. Alistair wondered if she'd asked herself what she could have done to make—

The path in front of them filled with bandits. Alistair cursed himself for letting his mind wander.

There were lots of them, and more came out of bushes at their sides. One spoke, "Your packs and weapons, if you please, and you'll go on your way unharmed."

Oghren pulled the battle axe from his back. "Not a chance, you nug-sucking worm."

Drawing her daggers. Leliana took a determined stance. "Andraste have mercy on you."

They both looked at Alistair expectantly. Leliana gave him a wink.

Alistair lifted an eyebrow.

Leliana's brow furrowed and the little smile that had come to her face when she looked at him faded. "Nothing, Alistair? Really?" She let out a sigh. "You used to be so much fun."

She turned back toward the bandit who seemed to be leading the group. "We will allow you to leave if you go now."

The bandit grinned and gestured at the men surrounding him. "You're outnumbered. It will be you in need of mercy, and you'll find none if you don't do as I say."

Closing his eyes, Alistair tried to focus his will. The power came to him fitfully and he felt a flutter of nerves. It had been too long since he'd used his templar skills, but he hadn't wanted to advertise his past. This should have only taken an instant, but he couldn't seem to…. Maker, he needed to do this—they were as dangerously outnumbered as the bandit had said.

Then the power flowed freely. He pulled his hands in, tightening his control, and spread his arms. Bright white light formed around him, spread, and crashed down on the bandits from above. It was stunning in both force and intensity.

He pulled his shield onto his arm, drew his sword and launched himself forward.

After that, there was no thinking, no remembering, no comparing past and present—just the chaos of battle—blood rushing, heart pounding, instinct to survive. He drove his shield into the still dazed bandit leader, knocking him to the ground, then turned and thrust his sword through a bandit to his left. The man dropped, dead or dying. Alistair wrenched his sword from the bandit's body, swinging his pommel back to smash it into another on his right.

Leliana finished him off, blades flashing. She gave Alistair a smile before attacking another.

Alistair glanced to his other side and saw Oghren bring his axe down on a bandit, one dead on the ground beside him.

They always did work well together. Time hadn't changed that. Nor had his doubts about them.

He swung his sword toward the leader, who had picked himself up from the ground and leapt toward him, parrying the man's blows, catching one with his shield, then running him through.

Turning toward the few surviving bandits, Alistair gathered his will again.

The men looked at Oghren with his bloody axe, at Leliana, who'd paused, daggers raised. Then they looked at Alistair, light rising around him, and bolted for the woods as fast they could run.

Laughing, Leliana began wiping her daggers clean. "Just like old times, no?"

Alistair took a rag from his pack and carefully wiped the blood from his blade before replacing it in his scabbard. When he was done, he stared at her. "No. Not like old times." He headed away from the road, into the woods. "Let's find a place to camp."

* * *

Splintmail was easier to move in than plate, but it sure was hard to clean. Alistair frowned and angled his breastplate toward the fire to get more light. There was _still_ dried blood there where the strips of metal overlapped. He folded an oiled cloth to get a narrow edge and rubbed the offending spot. This armor was barely adequate to begin with. Rust would just make it worse. There. That was better. He set the breastplate aside. Now the gauntlets and greaves.

He heard a twig snap and looked up.

Leliana.

Well, that was just _way_ too much like his dream. But she had wine, not daggers.

She sat down beside him holding two metal cups.

"What's this?"

"Some very nice wine. It won't be long before Orlesian wine is an expensive luxury again. We should enjoy it while we can."

"Oh. Well…thanks." Alistair put the gauntlet down and took the cup she held out.

They drank in silence, the night quiet and still except for the crackling of the fire and the occasional snore from Oghren.

"Do you truly hate this, traveling together again?"

He turned to look at her. She was watching the fire, but he could see the tension in her face. "I don't…hate it."

"You're very quiet. It's not…. I miss your silly jokes."

Alistair pulled his mouth to one side. "That's new." He took a sip of wine, looked down at his cup and thought about how to answer her. "I like the idea of having a purpose again. I don't know what Anora has planned, but…at least I'm doing something. The thing is—"

"You don't trust us."

"No." The silence stretched out and Alistair found himself not wanting to leave things on such a harsh note. After all, he didn't know they planned on betraying him. "Not entirely." He put his cup on the ground, his eyes on it, rather than Leliana. "I don't trust anyone, not even myself."

Turning his head, Alistair looked at her.

She was frowning.

"Leliana, when Marjolaine all but guaranteed your death, what did you think?"

Her frown deepened, creasing her brow, and she tilted her head. "I was heartbroken, of course."

"No, that's how you felt. What did you _think_—about her, and about…yourself?"

"I…. Well, I felt like a fool. I wondered how I could have misjudged her so and not seen what she was capable of, or what…. Oh."

"It's not just Kallian. It's Loghain, it's Howe, it's…. People are smiling while they stab each other in the back, and I never see it coming." Alistair shook his head. "I don't know how to live in a world like that, Leliana. I just don't. Can we not talk about this anymore?"

"Certainly, Alistair." She pointed to his cup. "Would you like another cup of wine?"

He shook his head.

"Well, I would, and when I return, I will help you finish cleaning that armor."

Alistair watched her walk away. No…he didn't hate this. He just didn't want to start thinking it meant something, or could last.

* * *

It took eleven more days to reach the port of Val Chevin. It would only have taken eight and a half to reach Val Royeaux, but it was just too risky, for both Leliana and Alistair.

Alistair's mood swung back and forth like a pendulum. Some days his doubts were all but overwhelming. On others…he let himself hope. He let himself believe that everything was as it seemed. On those days, he felt better than he had in years—and that scared him back to the doubts.

One night, Oghren had mentioned that they'd been searching for him for close to a year. A _year_. That was as long as it had taken Kallian and him to go from Ostagar to the Landsmeet. And they'd spent all that time looking for _him_.

Alistair tried not to let that influence him, but it did. It felt like that had to mean something, that it couldn't have _just_ been for money. He found himself trusting them more, and that scared him even more than the hope.

They boarded a small cargo ship bound for Ferelden. It was a rustic vessel without proper cabins. The hold was divided into four sections with cargo fore and aft, crew and passengers in the center. The cargo turned out to be grain, which seemed odd to Alistair. Ferelden exported grain, it didn't bring it in from Orlais.

They were the only passengers, other than two men who had the ragged and furtive look of those fleeing an unpleasant fate.

Alistair knew that feeling. He'd probably looked much the same on his previous journey across the Waking Sea.

The winds were against them, unusual for this time of year, or so Alistair gathered from the cursing of the crew. It took twice the usual time to reach Jader, a trading city north of Orzammar—almost four days. They docked only briefly as the ship's cargo was bound for their last port of call, Denerim, and then set off for Highever.

Alistair found that he was sleeping better. Maybe it was the sea air. And maybe his friends hadn't written him off with an "Oh, well…what's for breakfast?" That helped, too—the more time Alistair spent with them, the more he was able to believe that might be true.

Maybe it was the new sense that he might find a purpose once again, something honorable and right. He reminded himself that it was Anora who summoned him, and her request might be more in line with a Mac Tir version of honor than his own.

He held onto that idea of purpose, nonetheless, because with unaccustomed rest and hope, came relief from the thoughts of failure and loss that plagued him.

That was not to say such things ceased entirely. The night after leaving Jader, he showed that to everyone.

_Ostagar—the tower of Ishal…. Smoke from darkspawn fires, the smell of blood, guts open to the air. Screams and battle cries. The roars of monstrous things. _

_Alistair charged up the last flight of stairs, heart pounding, frantic. They had to get to the beacon—Duncan and the king were depending on him. Maker, let them be in time. Panic shortened his breath and he knew that if they weren't, Duncan and Cailan would both die, the Blight would cover Ferelden and it would be his fault. This time he wouldn't let them down, this time—_

_The door wouldn't open. _

_Eyes wide, he looked at Kallian. Her red hair was piled high on her head, and she was wearing a fancy dress of elven design. _

_She smiled. "Don't worry, Alistair. All will be as it should be."_

"_But…it's been at least an hour. We need to light the signal! The king is depending on us!" He shook the door handle. "It should be me down there—I should be the one to die, not Duncan, not Cailan! Everything would be better if I was the one who died."_

_Kallian's smile widened. Her dress changed into the armor of a Warden-Commander. She touched the door with one finger, and it swung open._

_As Alistair ran inside, everything changed. He wasn't in the tower any more, he was on the battlefield, surrounded by darkspawn—hurlocks, genlocks, ogres, shrieks—an army of blighted monsters swarmed around the smaller force of Wardens. _

_He looked up at the tower above to see that somehow the signal had been lit. But no one came. The huge army that had waited to reinforce them had abandoned them, just as it had been before. Loghain had abandoned them._

_Nothing had changed. He'd failed again._

_Alistair drew his sword and attacked the closest darkspawn, but the wounds he gave healed as fast as they were made._

_Fear shortened his breath, cold sweat beaded on his brow, the hand that held his sword started to shake. He couldn't let them all die. Not again. This time he was here—he had to do something!_

_Looking around wildly, Alistair saw the Wardens who'd become his family under attack, horribly outnumbered. All called for his aid—each one expecting him to save them. Their screams filled the air, their blood sprayed over him until his armor was red with the blood of friends. It ran into his eyes, warm and salty, stinging._

_Alistair tried to run to them. His muscles knotted with the effort, but his legs wouldn't work, no matter how he strained. They were slaughtered, ripped apart by the darkspawn. He could see his failure in the eyes of his brother Wardens as they died, and his throat tightened with shame and grief._

_Then he saw the king, Duncan fighting by his side, battling an enormous ogre. It reached out and grabbed Cailan, lifting him into the air. Its massive fist tightened with excruciating slowness, crushing the king's shining gold armor and the man who wore it—the half-brother whom Alistair had never really known. _

_Cailan let out a long, terrible cry then went limp, blood running from his mouth. _

_The ogre tossed the king's broken body aside and turned to Duncan. _

_Now it wore Cailan's armor—it was unbeatable, impervious…. Duncan would die, and Alistair could do nothing but watch._

_No!_

_Dread twisted Alistair's stomach. He struggled to move, panic lending strength to his efforts, and little by little, he began to move._

_Duncan leapt into the air, sword in one hand, knife in the other, and drove the sword into the ogre's neck above the armor. _

_A fatal blow! He'd been wrong—Duncan wouldn't die, Duncan—_

_He heard Kallian's voice. "You can't change the past, Alistair. Duncan is dead. The king is dead and I chose a queen instead of you. But it would still be better if you die. You know that, don't you? What have you to live for? You're no Warden. You're no king. You're nothing at all—just a sad failure of a man."_

_When the ogre fell, the surrounding darkspawn dragged Duncan from the corpse, bringing him down by sheer number until he disappeared beneath them. When they drew back, he was gone, as if he'd never been there at all._

_Oh, Maker, no. _

_Alistair's eyes stung and the weight of his sorrow and disappointment dragged him to his knees. _

_As he stared at Cailan's lifeless corpse, the ogre rose from the ground, alive again. It picked Alistair up and slammed a gauntleted fist into him again and again, then threw him to the ground, pinning him down with a giant hand._

_Alistair turned his head away from the ogre's nightmarish teeth toward Kallian. "Help me! Kallian, please!"_

_The ogre hunched over him, ripped open his breastplate, and then plunged a hand into his chest, cracking ribs like sticks. _

_Kallian crouched down next to Alistair, reached into his chest and ripped the heart from his body. "You won't need this anymore." She gave it to the armored ogre, who crushed Alistair's heart as it had crushed the king_

_Alistair screamed, his body feeling his heart's destruction even after it had been pulled from his chest._

He was still screaming when he awoke with everyone in the shared sleeping space staring at him, and crew members peering through the open doorway.

Andraste's mercy, this just couldn't be worse.

Making every effort to avoid the gaze of those who watched, Alistair pushed his way through them and made his way up to the deck. He put his hands on the rail at the ship's side and stared into the water, breathing deeply and trying to calm himself.

It was a long time before he noticed that Oghren had come on deck and was holding out a blanket. Or that he was freezing, clad only in the pants he'd slept in.

Wrapping the blanket around himself, Alistair turned away from the water and looked up at the stars.

Oghren leaned against the side of the ship and handed Alistair a flask of some kind of liquor that was so harsh and potent, it made his eyes water. They shared the flask in silence until the sun rose.

As the sun appeared over the horizon, Alistair glanced at Oghren and cleared his throat. "I'd…like to get off at Highever. It would mean walking to Denerim, but with the three day stopover there, we wouldn't lose that much—"

"Not a problem."

"We should ask Leliana if—"

"She won't mind."

"Thanks." Alistair looked out across the sea and tried to calculate the distance to Highever.

Oghren took his flask and drained the last of its contents. "I'm sick of this tub, anyway."


	4. Chapter 4

Note: The link to the illustrated version is posted on my profile page-all 26 chapters are up there.

* * *

It took another two days to reach Highever. To Alistair's immense relief, he had no more dreams of the type that would create a spectacle.

Finally, and with more anticipation than he would have thought possible given his doubts and fears, Alistair found himself walking down the gangplank and setting foot on Fereldan soil for the first time in three years. It felt like much longer.

The dock was crowded with people speaking his language and wearing sturdy Fereldan clothes. Familiar smells filled the air. Maker! Wonderful and unnerving, at the same time. His stomach fluttered as he looked around him for signs of hostile recognition, but he saw no threat.

As they walked up the stairs leading from the docks to the street above, Alistair smiled. "Okay, that smell can't really be wet dog, so what is it?" He felt almost giddy with the sense of being home.

Leliana smiled. "It's one of the great mysteries of Ferelden, Alistair, along with why your people dress so badly. The rest of Thedas just assumes it's your many dogs, but it could just as easily be mold."

She took his arm and gave it a happy pat. "So, you are newly home. We should take a moment to celebrate before we start traipsing across the countryside. What would you like to do?"

"Well…. I'd really like to get some new armor and weapons. What I have isn't that good."

"That's how you would celebrate your return? By arming yourself?"

Alistair lifted an eyebrow. "Can you think of anything more appropriate?" He smiled at her. "And you know how much I appreciate the finer things in life. I'm very elegant. The dogs that raised me wouldn't have it any other way."

Leliana snickered, her grip tightening on his arm. "Now _this_ is the Alistair I missed."

It had been a long time since he'd felt this good, it was true, but examining that feeling too closely might make it go away, so he didn't linger on the thought.

"You only laugh because you're jealous of my refinement. In any case, we both know that any meal we had in celebration would be a step down from what we ate in Orlais, if homey."

He turned to Oghren. "What do you think?"

"I think it's all better than your cooking. Eh, let the nughumper buy some gear, Leliana. We can go to a tavern after and catch up on what's been going on while we've been gone. We'll learn more that way than asking Her Sodding Majesty."

Anora's guards had stripped him of Cailan's armor and Maric's sword at the Landsmeet, and who know what had happened to the gear he's left at Eamon's. He'd find nothing like that here. Alistair tried not to think about the things that had meant most to him, now lost—Duncan's shield, sword and dagger.

As he searched the shops, Alistair was force to admit that he'd been spoiled in a way that the deprivations of the last few years hadn't erased. He could find nothing that met his standards now that he had the gold to purchase something better. The old veridium splintmail he wore was superior to everything here. And the swords were…really not good.

Oghren had been cursing for the last hour. Leliana was looking increasingly irritable, and an irritable Leliana was more than a little frightening.

Alistair stopped outside the fourth shop and looked at his companions. "I'm sorry. This is pointless. I should have waited until we got to Denerim and—"

A ragged boy ran up to Alistair, clutching a folded paper that was much cleaner than his grubby hand. "Ser, I was asked to give you this." He shoved the paper into Alistair's hand and disappeared into the crowd.

Leliana leaned forward to look as he unfolded the note.

_Warden,_

_Unless I miss my guess, I knew your brother. You have the look of him. I have not approached you myself as I realize that drawing attention to your presence may be imprudent, but it would be my very great pleasure to invite you and your companions to be my guests at Highever Castle for as long as you desire. It would also be my pleasure to render any aid which you may require. You need not fear a lack of discretion. _

_And don't bother with the shops. I can outfit you in a more fitting manner. _

_Your servant,_

_F. Cousland, Teyrn of Highever_

"Maker's Breath, Alistair! What luck this is!" Leliana's eyes were wide.

"Sure, leave the dwarf out of the loop—or do I have to climb on the bard's back so I can read over your shoulder, too? Heh, could be worth it."

"It is only my daggers that you would hold, Oghren."

Alistair handed the note to Oghren and looked at Leliana. "Why would the Teyrn of Highever want to help me? He must want something in return, but I can't think of anything I could do for him except play figurehead in some rebellion he has planned, and I'm not willing to do that. Or maybe he's just looking to collect a reward."

"What do you know of the Couslands, Alistair? I have heard nothing but fine things said."

"They're known to be royalists—ever since Elethea Cousland swore fealty to Calenhad, always the first to offer troops or aid to the crown. Their power is second only to Ferelden's ruler. Everyone respected Bryce Cousland. Eamon called him one of the most honorable men in Ferelden. I don't know, Leliana, people have always seemed to think them good, decent people, but what does that really say? Not much."

"Oh, Alistair. You make me sad." Leliana reached up and touched his cheek. "Good, decent people still exist, you know." She dropped her hand. "Anora is queen, but the teyrn may still wish you well without disloyalty. He may even regret that things happened as they did."

"Maybe. It doesn't seem all that likely to me, but if it's true, then Fergus Cousland is a brave man. As far as he knows, Anora wants me dead, and wouldn't appreciate any help he might give me, even shelter. It's all risk, no reward." Alistair shook his head. "It's not like he was one of the nobles who stood with Eamon before the Landsmeet. He owes me no loyalty." His mouth twisted. "The others never thought they owed me anything, either, so why would he?"

"You are kind and courageous, and deserve more loyalty than you've been given. I'm going to pester you until you believe that, so you might as well start now." Leliana gave him a quick smile. "Besides, we won't know unless we go find out, will we?"

"Better get cheerful, duster, or she'll make ya." Oghren handed the note back to Alistair. "Let's go see the teyrn."

* * *

There were no guards outside Highever's gates, just a tall, well-built man with shaggy brown hair and a face that bore lines of both good humor and sorrow. He walked forward to meet them, spreading his arms. "Your Highness. Welcome to my home."

Alistair raised his hands. "No, no. None of that! Just 'Alistair,' Teyrn Cousland."

The teyrn nodded. "As you wish. Please call me Fergus."

"I'm, uh…not here to become anything other than 'just Alistair,' either."

"Ah." Fergus smiled. "I find myself relieved. Much as I wish to aid you, and had no vote at that unfortunate Landsmeet, Anora is now queen, whatever that may entail, and Ferelden is in no state to endure another civil war.

He tilted his head to one side. "May I ask why you _are_ here, then? Only because it may make a difference in how I introduce you to my household. I don't want to give away any secrets."

Alistair's lips twisted. "Anora knows I'm in Ferelden, if that's what you mean. She summoned me."

Fergus crossed his arms, an eyebrow rising. "Did she now? I don't mean to be impertinent, but do you think answering that command is a good idea?"

"No, not really, but…" Alistair shrugged. "She made it sound very dramatic and important—the promise not to have me killed was good, too."

Fergus's brows both lifted at that. "I see. Well, that is nice to hear, isn't it? Still, it might be prudent if I call you 'Warden' in public."

Waving an arm toward his companions, Alistair said, "Allow me to introduce my friends. This is Leliana and Oghren."

"A great pleasure." Fergus bowed to each. "You are welcome in my home."

He turned and knocked on the gate, and when it opened, led them into the great hall. A full score of guards stood at attention on either side of their path. "Your rooms are being prepared. In the mean time, what do you say we get you more suitably armored, Warden?"

"Fergus, I…." Alistair rubbed his forehead. "Maker, I can't think of any way to ask this that isn't…." He dropped his hand and looked at Fergus. "Why are you helping me, welcoming me into your home? I just don't see how this is a good idea—for you. I'm grateful, of course, but I can't help but wonder what you might want of me."

There was no anger in Fergus's expression. Alistair expected that and maybe a swift boot out the door, but what he saw looked more like regret.

"You have little reason to assume good intentions, don't you?" Fergus shook his head. "My family's influence is great, Alistair. I can only say that, had Howe been exposed earlier, had the Couslands been present, the events of Landsmeet would have been very different. Had my father lived, you would have had his support, as you would have had mine.

"None of that can be undone, but I'll give you aid in any way I can honorably do so. You have my word as a Cousland."

Disbelief warred with gratitude and confusion. Alistair hoped that wasn't showing on his face, but he was afraid it might be. He scrambled for an appropriate response. "I…thanks. Uh—"

Fergus leaned forward, clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go see about that armor."

"I don't want to put you to any trouble." Alistair didn't know how to take this kind of welcome. Every instinct told him that he could believe in Fergus's good will, but he knew his instincts couldn't be trusted. He didn't know what to think about this at all. Looking away from Fergus, he let his gaze wander to the portraits lining the Hall.

"It's no trouble at all." Fergus followed his gaze then moved toward the paintings. He pointed to the portraits of an older couple. "My parents, Bryce and Eleanor." Moving to a painting of a pretty woman holding a small boy, he ran his hand along the frame. "My wife, Oriana, and my son, Oren." Fergus reached out and touched the boy's face. "Poor little Oren, he was growing so fast, he…." His voice grew choked, and he stopped, staring at the picture for a moment, then turned back to them. "They were all killed by Rendon Howe's treachery."

Leliana spoke quietly. "It was Alistair who killed Howe."

Fergus gave a sharp nod. "You have my thanks. Please tell me, did he suffer?"

"Uh, not for long, I'm afraid, but…it couldn't have been pleasant while it lasted. His entrails were on the floor beside him." Alistair shifted his weight, hoping he was saying the right thing.

Nodding again, Fergus's lips curled. "I like that image."

He pointed to the last two portraits. "That one's me, of course, and the other is my sister, Elissa. She survived the attack, but only because my parents forced her to flee out of duty, and it was a very near thing. Left to her own devices, she would have fought to the death to hold this castle."

Glancing at Alistair, Fergus said, "I'd introduce you, but she's in Denerim right now."

Elissa Cousland looked a lot like her brother, only sterner, more formal—a bit terrifying, really. "I'm glad she escaped, Fergus. My deepest condolences. I just wish…."

"Killing Howe was no small gift to this family, Warden." He waved for them to follow and lead them out of the hall and into a guard room. "In truth, I believe Loghain shared a good measure of blame in addition to his crimes at Ostagar. Howe was his lackey." Fergus shook his head as he unlocked the door to the armory. "It gives me no pleasure to see his daughter on the throne."

Alistair gave a tight smile. "I'm with you there."

As they entered the room, Alistair's attention was drawn to a magnificent suit of silver and gold plate armor in the center of the room. "Impressive! Is that yours, Fergus?"

"No, that's the armor I had in mind for you. White steel—very strong. I prefer heavy chainmail, myself. It's what I always wore as a boy, and I just got used to it, I guess. This armor was a gift for my father that arrived only after his death. I know he would approve of you having it."

"I…really? I'm…. Wow."

Fergus smiled broadly. "That's just the reaction I was hoping for."

Alistair was staggered by this unexpected generosity. He tried to find the words to respond, speechless for a moment, then said, "I'll do my utmost to honor him when I wear it. I can't thank you enough."

"You'll need a sword and shield, as well." Fergus gesture toward a rack of swords, and the Highever shields hung on a wall. "I'll let you pick out the ones that suit you best. My weapons and the family sword are in my room and my sister has hers with her, so take whatever you like."

Alistair found a shield that was to his liking fairly quickly then spent somewhat longer testing the weight and balance of each of the swords, before choosing a dragonbone blade etched with runes. He looked at Fergus uncertainly. "This is a fine blade, but…are you sure? Wouldn't you or your sister rather use it yourselves?"

"Not a bit. We have our own good blades we prefer, and I'm glad you chose that one. It was Elethea Cousland's. After she swore fealty to Calenhad, she commissioned a new one, vowing never again to use the sword she'd raised against him. No Cousland has worn it since. I like the idea of a sword that was laid down to honor Calenhad being wielded by his heir."

Leliana clapped her hands together. "Oh, yes! It would make a fine ballad, would it not?"

"I suspect Anora wouldn't think so." Alistair looked from Fergus to Leliana. "Leliana is a very talented bard. If you ask nicely, she might sing for us later."

Fergus looked at Leliana and smiled. "Then I shall ask very nicely, indeed." He gave a slight bow and turned back to Alistair. "I'll have these delivered to you. Now, let me show you to your rooms." Fergus offered his arm to Leliana with a courtly flourish, and led them to the finest accommodations Alistair had seen in years.

The room he was given was lushly appointed, dominated by a large four poster bed so comfortable, it made him tired just to look at it. It was worlds away from his narrow cot at the inn in Orlais, or a hammock on the ship.

What really drew his attention, though, was a large stone bath from which steam rose invitingly. "Thank the Maker!"

Shedding his armor and under padding—a gambeson and pants—he lowered himself into the bath. The water was almost too hot to bear. "Ow, hot, hot, _hot!_ Ahhh…." Perfect. Just…perfect.

After soaking blissfully until the water started to cool, he washed every inch, and washed his hair twice. There was just nothing better than being the only person to use bath water.

Eventually, he dragged himself from the bath more than a little unwillingly.

In his rush to bathe, he hadn't notice the clothing that had been provided, much more suitable for a teyrn's castle than the wrinkled clothes in his pack, or the bowl of hot water next to a sharp shaving knife.

After he was dry, shaved and dressed, not to mention feeling more like himself than he had in years, Alistair opened the door to find an elven servant waiting. "Oh, hello."

"Good evening, Ser. The teyrn asked that I escort you to the dining hall, unless there's something else you require?"

"No, the dining hall is fine, thank you."

When he got to the hall, there were guards, soldiers and knights already filing in, taking seats on the side table benches. A couple of knights sat at the head table, speaking intently about something, and occasionally pointing to some of the men and women seated below. Captains, maybe?

Servants bustled to and fro, bearing platters of roasted meats and vegetables, fresh bread, and jugs of ale. It was loud and unusually casual for a nobleman's household, especially for one as high-ranking as Highever's teyrn.

Alistair's mouth thinned, thinking of what might have led Fergus to that—an effort to avoid a daily reminder of how the castle had been run when his mother and wife had been overseeing day to day affairs.

As he approached the head table, Fergus stood and waved him over to the seat on his right. "Did you find everything you need?"

"I did, thank you. I was especially happy about the bath."

"I've been on a long sea voyage or two, myself." Fergus smiled. "Ah, here are your companions." Fergus remained standing until Leliana, who was wearing a nice dress and looked very pretty, had taken a seat on his left.

Oghren was still in his armor. Alistair wondered if that was because the teyrn had been unable to find him anything that would fit, or because Oghren refused to wear anything else. He suspected the latter.

As Fergus sat in his own chair, he gestured to the servants, who brought them all mugs of ale and platters of food.

That afternoon, Alistair had told Leliana that they wouldn't find food as good as what they'd had in Orlais, but he hadn't really meant it. In truth, he'd grown tired of the Orlesian tendency to smother everything in rich sauces. This was just what he liked—simple fare, well-prepared, and he ate more of it than he intended.

Once the platters had been cleared away, Leliana picked up a borrowed lute and sang for them. Nothing sad that would remind these people of what they'd lost, but rollicking drinking songs, odes to battle, and a few ditties so naughty that Alistair could feel himself blushing right up to his ears.

He realized that he'd probably been wrong about Leliana being forgotten in Val Royeaux. Her performance was entirely memorable, and very different from watching her sing beside their campfire, pleasant as that had been.

When she returned the lute to its owner, and came back to the table, Fergus rose. "Thank you, milady. You have brought great joy into this house tonight, more than we've seen in a very long time."

"It was my pleasure. Truly."

Fergus looked at Alistair then to Oghren and Leliana. "There are things we should discuss. Perhaps this would be a good time to retire to my study?"

They stood, following him from the hall into an impressive library, and the study on one side.

Closing the door, Fergus said, "I didn't actually recognize you from a resemblance to Cailan, Alistair, although it is there." He crossed to the desk

"I wondered about that."

"We didn't meet at Ostagar, but you left a meeting with Duncan as I came in with a scouting report. He mentioned your name." He opened a drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. "So I knew who this was when I saw it. This was sent to me about three months ago." Fergus handed the paper to Alistair. "We've been watching for you ever since, in hopes of delivering a warning."

"Well, that was nice of you." Alistair took the paper, wondering what it might be that required such effort on his behalf. His eyebrows rose. "Okay, I'm not surprised that there's a price on my head, but they want my actual head. That's just messy. And you'd think the picture would be better if they want to make sure it's _my_ head they end up with. They don't even mention my name. They probably have a basket by the door just full of the heads of people who look a bit like me.

"I _am_ surprised that they're willing to pay five hundred sovereigns for it—what a shock to those who think me entirely worthless."

Alistair looked at Oghren. "The payment is to be made through someone called Jorim on the Amaranthine docks. Didn't the entire city burn?"

"The docks are outside the walls." Oghren took the paper from Alistair's hand. "Jorim. Never heard of him." He looked at Alistair. "Listen, duster, there's not much left of Amaranthine."

"And…that means?"

"I might be wrong."

"I get it. I'm not going to like this. Just tell me."

"The Vigil has tight control over what's left."

"Oh. I see." Alistair dropped the paper and pushed it back across the desk toward Fergus, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. "This came from Kallian, then. Well, don't worry, it's not like it's a big surprise at this point."

"I'm sorry, Alistair, but this might be something new." Leliana moved to his side and touched his arm. "It depends on why she sided with Anora in the first place and what her intentions were. We don't know. And we don't know if they've changed. At the Landsmeet, she only backed a decision of Anora's—"

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "Only?"

"If Kallian's responsible for this, and it sounds like she is, then your death is not just acceptable to her, she's now actively pursuing it. Not only that, but it's a recent decision, and one which would seem to be at odds with Anora's current wishes."

Alistair frowned. "I doubt that Anora ever stopped trying to find me, and probably not with a happy outcome in mind for me, whatever her intentions now. She's not the kind of person to leave loose ends. I don't think she managed, though. There were no attempts on my life, unless you count an ugly incident with bad fish at a dockside tavern. Perhaps she enlisted Kallian's aid. Maybe this is all part of some plan of Anora's."

Leliana shook her head. "She knew enough to have us start looking in Starkhaven. It was only a matter of time. Even if you're correct and Anora means to do you harm, why not let us deliver you and save five hundred sovereigns? Why try and have you killed at the docks? No, I think Kallian is acting on her own."

Fergus cleared his throat. "It might help to know that these weren't openly posted. They were given to dockworkers and guards in Amaranthine. It was more likely that you'd take a ship all the way to Denerim than disembark here in Highever. I just hoped that you'd want to stretch your legs before journeying on and we'd find you. I'd guess they looked for the same in Amaranthine. Whatever they planned, word of a bounty of this size will have spread further than the docks by now, and beyond Amaranthine. I'm just glad that my message found you before any in Highever who might be hoping to claim this reward."

He gestured to some nearby chairs. "Please, sit down and I'll tell you what I know."

They pulled the chairs up to the desk while Fergus poured them each a goblet of wine from a flagon. "My sister, Elissa, was badly wounded in Howe's attack. She made it past his forces and managed to get to a farm hold—loyal people who hid her and gave what help they could. By the time she was able to leave her bed, Loghain was regent and the Couslands were believed to be traitors. Howe was both the Arl of Denerim and Teyrn of Highever. Lis decided to go south to try and find me.

"I'll skip the long story, but Lis ended up fighting a lot of darkspawn, rescuing some refugees and joining Bann Teagan's forces for the Battle of Denerim. We found each other there.

"After all that, she decided she might like to become a Grey Warden. Not until we heard that 'Warden' Loghain was dead, mind you, although she might have done it anyway, just for the opportunity to slip a knife between his ribs. Lis was always been certain that Loghain knew what Howe intended, at least in part. I'm not so sure. There was never any proof of that, but ignorance wouldn't absolve him of responsibility.

"Knowing my sister, it might also have seemed like a good way to avoid Anora's court. She said that the only way she'd go to the coronation was if she could show up rolled in dog dung and flash her bare rear to the queen."

Alistair choked back a laugh, spilling his wine. He put down his goblet, mopped at the wine on his borrowed clothes, and waved a hand in the direction of the hall. "Sorry. This is the same sister in the portrait, right? Because…." Alistair's voice drifted off as he realized that he wasn't going anywhere very polite.

Fergus laughed out loud. "That portrait fools everyone. She's not so stiff, not by a long shot. She hated sitting still for twelve hours in that court dress, and by the time the painter got to her face, well…" He raised a hand. "But this story has a point, and I'm taking too long to get there. I should have just said 'she decided to become a Grey Warden and went to Amaranthine.' What can I say? I miss my little sister.

"I don't know the details, but she wrote that she found out some things that disturbed her enough that she felt the need to go to Denerim to talk to Anora." Fergus shook his head. "I can only imagine how disturbed she must have been to want to do that.

"Lis sent the paper with your picture at the same time. She didn't know who was pictured, and she didn't give any details about her reasoning, but she said that she thought we should come to this person's aid. I recognized that it was meant to be you, Alistair.

"Now, I don't know what she discovered in Amaranthine, or what she knows about this…." He flicked a finger against the paper. "But she doesn't think Anora has anything to do with whatever's going on, or she wouldn't have gone to Denerim. Of course, she's missing the pertinent fact that this bounty is on Alistair Theirin, so I'm not sure where that leaves us."

Maker's breath. He hadn't been back for even a day, or seen Anora, and things were already a mess. Wonderful. Alistair rubbed his temple. "Okay, then. Summing it up…. Anora may or may not be trying to kill me. Kallian definitely seems be trying to kill me, and is probably doing her best to make lots of other people want to kill me, too—although she doesn't seem willing to put my name out there.

"Something very bad may be going on in Amaranthine, and we don't know if it has anything to do with the darkspawn attack after the Blight, or some whole new bad thing." Alistair looked at Fergus. "Anything else I should know?"

Fergus put down his goblet. "There is, but it's not related to the rest of this. There have been food shortages in some areas of the country, especially in Amaranthine, parts of the Bannorn, and south to the Korcari Wilds."

Ah. That explained the grain on the cargo ship. "The taint?"

Fergus nodded. "Much of the land is still unproductive, although most of the food that will grow is edible now. Highever and Amaranthine were among the least touched, and were shipping food to Denerim for distribution, but with no harvest in Amaranthine this year or last…." He looked down, frowning. "It might not be enough, even with imports. There have been riots in Amaranthine and the Denerim Alienage, already. The summer harvest was good here in Highever and in parts of the Bannorn, but we are in a precarious state.

"Normally, we conserve food more than we did tonight, because we're shipping as much as possible, but my people needed a celebration more than you know."

Alistair nodded, thinking of what it must have been like to have rebuilt Highever, living with the memories of all those lost, while bearing the responsibility of feeding much of Ferelden. "I understand."

"That, and I wasn't about to serve you yesterday's bread and pease porridge on your first day home." Fergus grinned. "I do have my Cousland pride."

His smile faded. "Alistair, in light of this bounty, and the uncertainty of Anora's intentions, I'd like to send some of my men with you to Denerim. If Anora has any notion of promising you safe return then reneging, witnesses might dissuade her. An escort seems sensible. I mean no implication that your party isn't capable, but your numbers are few. Please consider it."

By the Maker! Sensible? Did Couslands have no sense of self preservation at all? The sister seemed to have spent most of the Blight mortally wounded or wandering Ferelden killing darkspawn by herself. Now Fergus was offering to let Anora see her former rival for the throne escorted by soldiers of the most powerful noble in Ferelden!

Alistair wasn't about to bring that kind of trouble on the Couslands after everything Fergus had done for him. "I don't want to bring you into this, Fergus. Anora might take it the wrong way. I can see her being a little touchy about people lending me soldiers."

For a moment, Fergus looked as though he might argue, but then he nodded. "As you wish, Alistair. Do you plan to leave tomorrow? If not, you're welcome to stay as long as you wish"

"Thanks, but I think tomorrow would be best. Early. I'm getting worried about what problems Anora might have that are so bad that she'd want me back in Ferelden, assuming this isn't some ploy."

Fergus nodded and picked up the flagon. "Now that we've covered those matters, we can move on to more pleasant things. More wine?"

"You don't have to ask me twice." Oghren pushed his goblet forward.

Fergus smiled and filled it. "You're man after my own heart, Ser Oghren." He raised the flagon toward Leliana and lifted his eyebrows inquiringly.

"My thanks, Fergus. That would be lovely."

"Alistair?"

Shaking his head, Alistair stood. He was feeling…overwhelmed. Tonight, he would sleep on Fereldan soil for the first time since he'd failed to become the king of this land, and the differences between who he'd been then and who he was now were far greater than a substantial price on his head.

It was strange to be social after spending so much time alone. It was even stranger that they were all being so nice to him. And the realization that he'd almost walked into a trap before even reaching Anora, the likelihood that Kallian still wanted to see him dead—five hundred sovereigns worth of dead….

Suddenly, he was desperate to be alone. "I think I'll go see if the bed in my chamber is as comfortable as it looks. Fergus, thank you—for everything."

"Glad to be of service, Alistair. If you need anything, just ask one of the servants."

Alistair nodded his thanks and left.

When he got to his room, he found that the arms and armor had been delivered. He picked up Elethea Cousland's fine sword, thinking of the history of it, of what that history meant to both his ancestors and the Couslands. To Ferelden. He reached out a hand and touched the truly glorious set of armor, intended for the late teyrn whose son had seen fit to bestow on _him_. He thought of all that Fergus had done for him—and what he'd offered that Alistair just couldn't accept.

He thought of the vast gulf between of all these things, and the swift acceptance of his execution by the nobles who'd claimed to support him.

Alistair was no longer overwhelmed. He was completely overcome.

His knees gave way and he sat on the edge of the bed, face covered with one hand, the legendary sword held tightly in the other, and wept.


	5. Chapter 5

Note: I've noticed from the usage stats that only about half the people coming here to read are going to my profile page to get the link to the illustrated version. Now, that means that I was right to put the story up here as well, but it also means that about half of you aren't seeing the illustrations, which is kind of a shame. Even if you prefer to read here, I'd encourage you to go look at the pictures for each chapter after you're done. But don't peak ahead to the later chapters! It would ruin the plot for you. Spoilers galore. ;)

* * *

When Alistair left his room about an hour before dawn, he found Leliana all but dragging a bleary-eyed Oghren out into the hall. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he recognized the tone from years of hectoring by revered mothers during his boyhood at the Chantry. He heard Oghren's response, though. It was loud.

"Andraste's tits! What's the hurry? Anora's waited this long, another hour or two of sleep won't matter one sodding bit!"

"Alistair wants to leave early, and we will be ready, Oghren."

"Ehh, this isn't early, it's last night." He pulled his arm away from her, swaying, and saw Alistair. "Oh, hey, duster. Good to see ya. Tell this blasted woman what's what."

"Sorry, Oghren. She's right. I want to get started as soon as possible. By the time we eat and say our goodbyes, it'll be dawn."

Oghren scowled. "And what if I don't _want_ to leave at sodding dawn?"

"Well, then I guess you'll have some catching up to do."

"Bah. Fine. We'll leave at dawn. Sodding surfacers ruled by their sodding sun. You're slaves to it, that's what." Oghren grabbed his pack from Leliana and started toward the family quarters, realized his mistake, then swung around to face the door to the lower level. "What are you waiting for? Let's go."

There was a surprising amount of activity going on downstairs for this time of day. Servants were carrying packages of goods toward the great hall. Knights in full armor were coming out of the dining hall and heading into the courtyard. A servant approached them, looking harried. "Sers, milady, the teyrn asks that you join him in the family dining room."

They were escorted to a small room off the main dining hall where Fergus was waiting, clad in heavy dragonbone mail.

Alistair's eyebrows rose. "Are you planning a trip, Fergus?"

"I am, Alistair, and a fine day for it, is it not?"

"And…where are you going…on this fine day?"

"I'm off to visit my sister in Denerim. Isn't that a lucky happenstance? We'll be able to travel together."

Alistair frowned at him.

"Don't give me that. You look like my mother—in plate. It's disconcerting. Next thing, you'll be nagging me about my language."

"Fergus—"

"Ah!" Fergus held up a hand, interrupting him. "I know you're just trying to look out for my interests." He dropped his chin, lifting an eyebrow. "But I'm the Teyrn of Highever, and need no protecting. You, on the other hand, could use a little more of that, so…accept defeat gracefully, Alistair. We'll tell Anora that we met on the road and all will be well."

Alistair stared at him for a moment. Fergus looked about as movable as this castle. He let out a breath and raised his hands. "I concede—now I understand the long history Cousland success. Andraste's mercy, you're stubborn."

Fergus laughed. "You're not wrong there, and my sister is worse, but I think you might know something about stubbornness, yourself." He gestured to the table where a selection of meats and cheeses waited, along with two loaves of fresh bread. "Please, sit and break your fast. By the time we finish, everything will be ready for our departure."

After a hurried meal, they went to the courtyard where their escort waited, a sizable contingent of knights and soldiers, all wearing their finest armor.

Alistair looked at the soldiers, shot a glance at Fergus, and looked back at the men. "You're trying to goad her, aren't you? Do you really think poking the queen with a stick is a good idea? She really shouldn't see me with a force like this unless I'm wearing shackles."

Fergus looked at Alistair. "Too much?"

"You think not?"

"I want to send a message."

"I'm not going to ask what message that is. I don't think I want to know." Alistair looked at the knights and soldiers again. "Maker, Fergus, are all your people so well equipped?"

Letting out a laugh, Fergus shook his head. "Not by half. It took a little scrambling to make this many look this good. But it's impressive, isn't it?"

"Very. I hope that's a good thing."

The trip to Denerim looked like it would be uneventful at first. Oh, they saw small groups lurking here and there who might have attempted robbery, or worse, but these would have been no problem for Leliana, Oghren, and Alistair to deal with on their own, and none were so foolish as to attack a large group from Highever.

It wasn't until late on the fifth day that Alistair had to admit that Fergus had been right to want troops to accompany them.

As they rounded a bend near the road to Amaranthine, they saw a large group of armed men in the distance. This wasn't a rag-tag group like the bandits that had accosted them in Orlais, or the ruffians lurking by the side of the road and trying to look innocent when confronted by the larger force from Highever. These men moved with the confidence of professional fighters and stood their ground as they were approached.

Fergus lifted a hand and his men brought their shields forward as one, forming an impressive phalanx, the Highever coat of arms bright and clear on each shield.

Some of the men who blocked the road turned to their fellows, arguing and point at the troops from Highever before appearing to give up the cause as lost, and fleeing into the underbrush.

Leliana readied her bow and Oghren pulled his axe from his shoulders. He now seemed impossibly sober.

Fergus pulled his shield onto his arm and drew his sword.

Scanning the group of attackers, Alistair looked for any sign that a magic user might be present.

A man near the back started moving his hands in the arcane patterns of spell casting.

Drawing his power to him, Alistair prepared to strike, but the mage was faster, one arm stretching toward Fergus, a clear, sparkling field forming around the teyrn then contracting to slowly crush him.

Alistair threw out his arms, sending out a cleansing aura, a wave of blue that spread from him like ripples in a pond, freeing Fergus. He gathered his power again, smiting the mage with a blast of solid light.

img src=".com/errant_knight_1/pic/00014382" /

Then battle was joined, armor clashing against armor, sword on sword, battle cries and screams, exhilarating madness. Alistair fought his way through the throng of fighters, trying to get to the mage before he cast another spell against them.

The mage saw him coming, waved an arm, and ice formed in the air around him. A blizzard filled the roadway, freezing Alistair's lungs and slowing him to a crawl, his frozen limbs refusing to respond. He put his head down and kept moving, fighting the slow but steady freezing of his body until he was within swords reach.

As he swung back his blade, Alistair felt his strength waning—another spell, and he hadn't recovered enough to cleanse it away or smite the mage.

Raising a hand again, the mage cast once more.

At the same moment, Alistair put all his might into a blow with his shield, and then brought his sword down to take the mage's head from his shoulders.

Suddenly, the noise of the battle receded. Everything was fuzzy and Alistair blinked his eyes, trying to remember what was going on. Something struck him hard and Alistair found himself on the ground. He felt the pain, but distantly, like it was happening to someone else. Something struck again.

His vision cleared and he saw a huge man in silverite plate about to cleave his skull with an equally huge sword. "Maker!" He rolled out of the way, just missed by the blow.

Alistair scrambled to get his legs under him, the thought flashing through his mind that he might have died before he regained his senses but for Fergus's gift of the fine plate. He struck out with his shield, buying himself some time, then brought up his sword, aiming for weak spots in the armor worn by this giant, surely a qunari mercenary, although Alistair couldn't tell, fully armored as the man was.

One of Fergus's knights joined him and, between them, the man was brought down. Alistair couldn't help but feel a measure of respect for this giant's ability—it made him think of Sten. Oh, Maker, let this not be Sten! No, Sten wouldn't be here, fighting as a mercenary, even if Kallian had asked him to kill Alistair. And he'd returned to qunari lands, surely.

Finally, the giant finally fell, his armor sundered by a blow from the knight.

Alistair and the knight grinned at each other, sharing the euphoria that came with a close victory. He turned away to look for Fergus and his companions.

The grin dropped from his face when he saw Fergus kneeling on the ground beside the prone form of one of his knights, Leliana beside him. She held an elf root poultice in her hand, but from the expression on her face, it would do no good.

Reaching out a hand, Fergus closed the eyes of the fallen knight. He bowed his head for a moment then stood and spoke to the soldiers, his voice uneven. "Build a pyre. We won't leave this spot until Ser Alan has been properly sent to the Maker."

The knights had gathered by the body of their fallen comrade. Fergus laid a hand on the shoulder of one. "I'm sorry, Malcolm. I know you were close. Stay with him. We'll take care of the rest."

He looked at the rest of the knights. "Remove the helms from the attackers and search them. I want to know who they were. Bring me any survivors."

None were recognized, or carried items by which they might be identified, although several carried the pamphlet bearing Alistair's picture. Three of them were found to have survived, wounded but alive, and were brought to Fergus.

"Who sent you?"

The question was met with silence. Fergus looked at a knight, who drew his sword.

"I ask again, who sent you?"

One of the men glanced at the two other captives, panic in his eyes. "A man at the docks. We don't know him. We didn't know each other. We just wanted the gold."

Fergus nodded to the knight, who killed the two who had remained silent with grim efficiency, earning a wordless protest from Leliana. He stepped closer to the lone survivor, grabbed him by the neck of his mail, and pulled him close. "I am Fergus Cousland, the Teyrn of Highever. Tell any who seek this reward that the man in question is of Highever. Any attack on him is an attack on me. If harm comes to him, those responsible will be hunted down and killed without mercy." He released the man, pushing him away. "Go."

The man nodded frantically. "Yes, ser. Thank you, ser." He ran up the road toward Amaranthine.

Fergus approached Leliana. "Milady, you're more versed in Chantry teaching than I. Would you speak the Maker's words for Ser Alan when we're ready?"

"Gladly." She reached out and touched Fergus's hand. "I'm sorry, Fergus."

The soldiers who'd been sent to build a pyre returned. "We're ready, ser.

"Then let us take him to his rest."

The flames arched high over the fallen knight's body, lighting the night with a red glow while Leliana spoke the words that would ease Ser Alan's return to the Maker. When she was done speaking, she sang an old and mournful ballad about an honorable knight who died while doing his duty for his king. It brought a tear to the eye of most, Alistair among them.

img src=".com/errant_knight_1/pic/000159x7" /

No one had ever laid down their life to protect him before. Fighting together against a common enemy—possibly falling—was one thing, but this…. If it wasn't for him, this man would be at home, alive and safe. He wanted to shake Leliana for choosing such an inappropriate song, for all that its plaintive lines pulled at his heart.

As he looked at the burning pyre, Alistair had a sudden realization of what could have happened to his friends had they stood against Kallian at the Landsmeet. The thought of Leliana or Wynne or Oghren fed to the flames so that he might live made him feel ill. Maker, he wouldn't even have wanted _Morrigan_ to die for him.

The flames began to die down and most of the group began to return to the spot they'd chosen to make camp. Leliana went with them, and soon Alistair heard the faint sound of a lute carried on the night breeze.

Fergus leaned toward the Knight-Captain. "Take out the wine that was to be a gift for the queen and distribute it among the men. Don't forget yourself. Just leave a bottle for me." He glanced at Oghren. "Make that two."

"Nice of you to think of me, your teyrnship, but I have something better." Oghren pulled out a large flask. "I think that poor blighter, Malcolm, could use a little of this." He walked over to the knight, whose face was wet with tears and handed him the flask.

"I see Ser Oghren knows what it is to lose a friend." Fergus looked at Alistair. "I told Malcolm that he could take the ashes back to Highever in the morning. Alan had a wife and Malcolm wanted to be the one to tell her."

He shook his head. "I'd almost forgotten what a proper funeral was like. After the Blight, we were burning bodies piled in carts, with little ceremony, or burning whole buildings, so corrupted were they by darkspawn and corpses." Fergus started back to camp, and Alistair followed. "I regret Alan's death, but I'm glad we could honor him properly."

The guilt that had been eating at Alistair became impossible to put aside, and he reached out a hand to stop Fergus. "I should never have come to Highever. I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have come back to Ferelden at all. I never imagined…. I never intended to bring danger or harm to you or your people, Fergus. This really isn't your problem."

Fergus stared at him. "Don't be an ass, Your Highness.

Alistair's mouth twisted. "I thought we'd—"

"You can call yourself what you like, and you may have lost the throne, but that doesn't change who you are. You're the last of Calenhad's line, and no Cousland or Cousland vassal will stand by and let you be killed on the road by a bunch of blasted bounty-hunters!"

Rubbing his forehead, Alistair frowned and tried to think of something—anything—he could say that would convince Fergus that this went so far beyond unnecessary as to be…well, something that wasn't necessary.

"If it makes you feel any better, I would have done the same for 'just Alistair.'"

Alistair looked at him. "By the Maker, why?"

Fergus shrugged and started walking again. "Why not? Would you not have done the same in my place? Because it seemed like the right thing to do?"

"Well…yes."

"Then stop being an ass."

* * *

The next morning, it was a somber group who broke camp. Malcolm and five of the soldiers headed back to Highever, while the rest continued toward Denerim. Four days later, they reached the city.

Alistair was shocked by the level of damage still evident, all these years after the darkspawn horde's assault. Whole buildings had been brought down, and while the rubble had been cleared from the streets, there were areas that looked like the attack had happened yesterday.

He noticed that those areas weren't anyplace the well-to-do would frequent. The closer they got to the palace, the better things looked. He wondered what it was like in the Alienage.

"Fergus, do you know anything about the riots in the Alienage?"

"I've heard that it's about food, but I don't really know why that would be so. There's still food coming in from the northern parts of the Bannorn, as well as what we bring from Highever, and imports from Orlais and Nevarra. There should be enough so that no one goes hungry, not yet, anyway. It could well be different by winter." He raised an eyebrow. "On the other hand, if someone was going to be shortchanged for some reason…."

"Right. It would be the elves." Alistair stepped around some dog droppings and heard a curse as the soldier behind him wasn't so lucky. "I may have some issues with Kallian—"

"Issues? That's quite an understatement."

"Big issues. Big, serious, weighty issues…. Anyway, I've got those, but she led the armies against the archdemon, she defeated the Blight, and yet attitudes toward her people don't seem to have changed much."

"Ah, but it was Loghain who actually killed the archdemon, and Riordan who planned the attack. That makes it easier for some people to ignore the fact that it was an elf from the Denerim Alienage who led the final battle and saved their hides.

"Kallian Tabris lost much of her influence with the nobility once the battle ended, and Anora isn't the type to take much advice from others, so I doubt she has much influence there, either." Fergus looked at Alistair. "You can't tell me that makes you sad, however regrettable such prejudice might be."

"It's too bad for the elves. I met some nice people in the Alienage. They deserve better." They reached the entrance to the palace. "Well, I guess this is where we say goodbye."

"No, I don't think so. Anora will have heard that we arrived together. We might as well face the dragon together, too. Unless you want to stand here and argue about it."

Leliana laughed. "Have you not realized that arguing with Fergus is a waste of time, Alistair?"

Pushing past them, Oghren started up the steps. "I'm going in. The rest of you can stay here and sodding talk your faces off." Leliana went to his side.

When Fergus moved forward, followed by his men, Alistair gave in and went, too. It was either that, or sit outside on the steps by himself, looking like he was afraid of Anora or sulking.

Maker take Fergus Cousland! He was bound and determined to protect people, but fought like a shriek to keep anyone from doing the same for him. It was very annoying.

Apparently they were expected, because they were led directly to the doors to the throne room where they waited to be announced. As the doors opened, Alistair felt a hard shove at his back, pushing him forward, and found himself leading them into the room, the Teyrn of Highever to his right, Leliana and Oghren to his left, and a complement of Highever's finest following him in formation.

Andraste's flaming sword! This was exactly the picture of the returning prince he really didn't want to create. Well, no help for it now. He wasn't going to give Anora the pleasure of seeing him less than confident. And Fergus was right. She'd already known that they'd traveled together—and well escorted—because the throne room was just bristling with guards.

The voice of the steward rang out. "Alistair Theirin. Fergus Cousland, Teyrn of Highever. Lady Leliana. Ser Oghren."

Straightening his shoulders, he took a breath, and strode forward to see the queen, stopping at the foot of the dais. "Hello, Anora. It's been a while."

From behind him, Fergus whispered, "Oh, _I'm_ goading her."

Anora didn't bother to rise from her throne, but straightened, staring down from on high. Well, every inch counts, when you're trying to remind someone that you won and they lost, lost, _lost!_

She was as beautifully perfect as ever, garbed as suited a queen, her blond hair coiled on her head, every strand in place. Just as glacial, too, although those who were more charitable might call it composed. Alistair didn't feel charitable. Being in this room brought all the events of Landsmeet back and gave his old anger fresh fuel.

Her gaze traveled his length, taking in the shiny new armor he wore. An eyebrow twitched upward ever so slightly. "Alistair."

Alistair found himself very glad that he wasn't wearing his old splintmail.

Anora's gaze went to Fergus and his knights. "Teyrn Cousland. What brings you here, so well guarded and…in such company?"

"A chance meeting, Your Majesty, no more."

"Do you think me simple?"

"Can a brother not wish to see his sister? As for my men, why, the roads are dangerous, more so than I knew, it seems."

Anora frowned. "You came to see Lady Elissa? We spoke briefly, but she returned to Highever, did she not?"

"What?" Fergus stepped forward to Alistair's side. "How long ago?"

"Several weeks. Even if she stopped to see to affairs at your Denerim estate, she should have arrived some time ago. I know that she had no plans to remain in the city."

"Your Majesty, I hope you can tell me more than that."

Anora returned to her throne and sat, leaving them standing below like petitioners. "Perhaps, but I will have to start at the beginning.

"After events in Amaranthine, I welcomed the Warden-Commander to Denerim as a hero, accepting her word that all that occurred was necessary. But it wasn't long before rumors began to reach me that this might not be the case, and complaints were made regarding Kallian's actions.

"The most serious of these was that the city of Amaranthine was not unsalvageable when burned. Burning the city may have been expedient, but it may also not have been necessary. There are those feel that the city, the farms and the estates were ignored to protect the Keep. There is great anger in Amaranthine against the Warden-Commander." She waved a hand toward Oghren. "So when I received confirmation of these rumors, and worse, my concern grew."

Alistair's eyebrows rose and he turned to look at Oghren.

"You're surprised, duster? You think I should have kept that to myself?" Oghren scowled at him. "Or maybe I should have gone all the way to Weisshaupt? What makes you think they don't already know?"

They couldn't know…could they? About Kallian sparing the architect? Burning the city without even trying to rescue survivors, that was horrible—the thought of it disgusted him, but…she must have believed them beyond hope. The Wardens in Weisshaupt would probably accept that, even if it was proved that she had been in error. Letting the architect go was something entirely different.

Anora continued, "Alistair, when I first summoned you, it was to investigate the complaints regarding events in Amaranthine. As a Grey Warden, you may do so without being accused of interference in their affairs. I can allow no Grey Warden to act against the best interests of Ferelden, but neither do I wish to be forced to exile them again. The need for their presence has been proven.

"This must be handled with a certain delicacy, and while subtlety seems foreign to you, I believe you to be the best choice for this task. You are the only Grey Warden who is neither under Kallian's command nor beholden to her in any way, and who can be trusted not to be working for overseas interests. Whatever else you may be, you are loyal to Ferelden. I know this to be true.

"Lady Elissa recently returned from Amaranthine not only repeating the information regarding actions taken during the attack, but with additional news. She spoke with those who believe dark magic is being encouraged. She found little evidence of this in Amaranthine, however, and I believe that such rumors of such may spring from Chantry anger that an apostate mage was chosen to join the Grey Wardens, something I allowed.

"Still, mention was made of strange activities involving blood magic at a Warden outpost called Soldier's Peak, and these rumors must be investigated before the Chantry is moved to become involved. As a former templar, I believe you can deal with these additional charges of encouraging and abetting maleficar as well as any outside the Chantry."

Anora brought her hands together and played with her fingers in a habitual gesture that would have indicated nervousness or doubt in anyone else. Alistair tended to think it was artifice, so long practiced as to be natural.

"I fear Lady Elissa may have taken it upon herself to do this already. She was most impatient when I told her that I had already made arrangements to look into all these charges, but that it would take time. She may not have chosen to take me at my word. If you will forgive my saying so, Teyrn Cousland, Lady Elissa is somewhat intemperate."

Soldier's Peak. Blood magic. Oh, Maker, that was bad. Alistair shot a glance at Leliana and Oghren, seeing the same reaction on their faces.

Crossing his arms, Fergus's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying that you let my sister go off to confront blood mages by herself, your Majesty?"

"Teyrn Cousland, I presume you have some experience with attempting to control your sister's actions? I all but ordered her to return to Highever, and assumed she had done so. I do not wish to see Ferelden torn apart in an Exalted March against the Grey Wardens, but I did not ask that your sister prevent this single handed."

"Andraste's mercy…." Fergus closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across his furrowed brow. He dropped his arm and looked at Anora. "If you'll excuse me, I must go after my sister. Where is this Soldier's Peak?"

"Fergus, wait." Alistair turned away from Anora and took Fergus's arm. "I know how much you want to go after her. I know how worried you must be, but what you're doing at Highever is absolutely vital and Soldier's Peak is deep in the mountains. Let me go. I promise you, I'll find your sister."

Fergus shook his head. "I have to go, Alistair. I would welcome your aid, but I need to go after her myself."

"Will you let Ferelden go hungry in the meantime? And what if there are blood mages there? Do you really want to risk them having control of the last two Couslands? Please, I want to do this for you." Alistair gave a quick glance at Anora and lowered his voice. "Let me be the kind of friend to you that you've been to me. Let me do this."

"Alistair, you're asking me to—"

"Trust me. I know it's a lot to ask. Believe me, I don't speak of trust lightly—and you have no reason to trust me, but I swear to you that I'll do everything in my power to find her and return her to Highever safely."

"Of course, I trust you! It's not that. I'm at least that good a judge of character." Fergus stared at him, his jaw clenching. "All right. I'll go back to Highever, but as soon as you know anything…."

Alistair nodded and turned back to Anora.

She gave him a thin smile. "Then you will take up my commission?"

"Yes, but I want you to make a public announcement that all is forgiven and you have no objection to my presence in Ferelden—now, not when I've produced results. I'll have enough to contend with as it is, without having to fight any of your soldiers who might recognize me."

Her eyes narrowed. "The people believe you dead, Alistair, and I have no wish to stir things up. I will send instructions to my captains in case any should become overzealous. You will have to content yourself with that."

Anora gestured toward her steward who came down the steps and placed a heavy pouch in Alistair's hand. "This should be sufficient for your costs and more. I can offer you no other help if I wish to distance myself from your actions, nor will I be able to offer aid if you fall afoul with the Wardens or the Chantry, except as a disinterested third party. As far as anyone outside this room is concerned, you'll be acting entirely on your own. Do your best to go unnoticed."

Alistair gave a short laugh. "So, if I succeed, yay!—and if I fail, I'll twist in the wind alone. Imagine my surprise."

"You are as glib as ever, I see. We're done here. Report to me when you have news."

Alistair's lips twisted into a smile. "Of course, _Your Majesty_."

Her gaze turning toward Leliana and Oghren, Anora gave them a glare so chilly, Alistair could practically feel the frost in the air.

"By rights, I should withhold payment. You were instructed to bring Alistair to me promptly, and yet this simple task took a full year. A year in which you sent few reports, and gave me no means to contact you with new orders. This was not what I intended, as I am certain you both know full well. Still, you finally returned with Alistair, so…." She waved a hand toward her steward who gave each a small pouch. "It is the amount agreed upon, but were I you, I would expect no further commissions. I am less than impressed with your abilities."

Anora looked at the steward. "We are done here."

The man bowed then escorted them from the throne room.

When they reached the steps outside the palace, Alistair paused, suddenly light-headed. Okay, maybe he was just a little afraid of Anora. He hadn't been the least bit sure he was going to leave with his head attached to his body. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly.

He looked at Fergus. "Soldier's Peak is about halfway between Amaranthine and Highever. We can travel together until we reach the road into the mountains. I'll leave you there. By distance, it would only take about eight or nine days to get to Soldier's Peak from here, and maybe seven or eight from there to Highever, but travel will be much slower through the mountain passes so don't look for a return to Highever before three weeks have passed."

Alistair didn't know it would take that long, in fact, it probably wouldn't—but while the fall weather was warm in the lowlands, even sultry, winter might already have begun high in the mountains. He didn't want Fergus thinking the worst if they were delayed by snow.

Turning to Oghren and Leliana, Alistair gave them a smile. "I…. Thanks for finding me. I may not have acted like it, but it was good to see you both. I don't know what will happen when I go to Amaranthine, but…maybe I'll see you again."

"Sodding right you will. We're going too, right, bard?"

Leliana nodded. "If Kallian is doing people harm, or allowing Avernus to commit atrocities, we helped make it so. We would not leave you to deal with her alone." Her gaze dropped. "Not again." She looked at Fergus. "And with Fergus's sister in danger, of course, we must help."

"Thank you. I'll be glad of that help." And he would, too. That felt strange. Alistair didn't want to do this alone, it might not even be possible. But he didn't want to start depending on people again, either. He needed to look out for himself.

Alistair really didn't know if you could do both.


	6. Chapter 6

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page.

* * *

The mage was finally leaving the tower. Thank the Maker! She's been waiting for the better part of a day.

Lis Cousland waited for him to move into the next room before creeping out of her hiding place—something that looked like a makeshift shrine to Andraste.

Opening the door through which Avernus had come, she found herself on a wall-walk leading to a bastion.

The walk was not unattended. Skeletons wearing corroded armor turned to face her, desiccated flesh clinging to their bones, jaws wide in horrifying parodies of smiles they might have worn in life.

Andraste have mercy, how could this be possible? Lis shivered, feeling the cold of the biting wind and light snowfall more keenly as she watched the unnatural guardians run toward her.

At least, she told herself that's what it was that made her shudder—just the chill of mountain weather.

Lis steeled herself for their assault. The creatures ran like men, they wielded human weapons and she would cut them down like any other foe.

When the first of the fiends swung a pitted greatsword toward her, her stomach clenched. What if these things couldn't die? They were already dead, after all.

Pushing that thought aside, Lis fell into the practiced rhythm of battle—block, parry, strike. Her shield was both a weapon and a defense, her sword arm was true and she focused on the fight, rather than the faint smell of death that wafted from her enemies.

Even an undead thing proved unable to fight without arms or legs.

She concentrated first on removing those extremities, and then chopped the remains of the undead into component bones until they no longer moved.

That done, Lis took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders to loosen muscles that were still tight and chiding herself. She was fighting the thralls of one who was likely a blood mage. Squeamishness didn't help and this was no worse than fighting darkspawn, however unexpected. Better, in fact. Undead warriors carried no taint. There was no reason to be unnerved.

She tightened her grip on her sword, crossed the wall-walk to the entrance to the tower and went inside. Something smelled very bad.

More undead rushed toward her from a doorway to her right.

Oh, piss and fire! Good thing she'd convinced herself that she was just fine with this, however disgusting and not at all normal it was. Maker's blood!

Lis battled the skeletal guards as she had those outside, incapacitating first. There were twice as many as there had been on the wall-walk, and she found herself pushed to the limit to fight so many at once.

As she lunged forward to take the sword arm from a long dead warrior, she heard the door behind her open. A bright gold light flared and she found herself trapped as surely as an insect in amber, unable to move. There was movement at the outer reach of her vision then something struck her temple, hard, and she saw no gold light, only darkness.

* * *

Pulling on the rope that tethered her to the central post of the wide, open-topped oubliette, hands high above her head, Lis cursed herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She should've known better than to try and sneak into a mage's tower. Sneaking had never been her forte. She was much better at charging headlong into battle and killing everything that moved.

She should have _known_ there'd be traps she couldn't detect. She must have triggered something that alerted the mage to her presence. Even worse, she'd allowed him to walk right up behind her and knock her out. Now here she was, with no way to free herself and a blinding headache.

Andraste's ass! Even if she could get her hands untied, she wouldn't be able to get out of this hole in the ground!

Lis's throat tightened as she realized just how likely it was that she'd doomed herself to death at the hands of some kind of necromancer or blood mage. Chantry respecting Circle mages just didn't have armies of dead people.

A door opened and she heard a woman's voice. It was familiar, but she couldn't place it.

"I told Levi Dryden that I saw a female warrior heading away from the keep and asked who she was. He said he didn't know, just that she'd been looking for supplies. Perhaps she won't be missed, but I think it's time for you to leave here, Avernus."

"I can't leave! I'm right in the middle of something, and getting very good results. Those blight victims you brought me were invaluable, and when I—"

The woman spoke again. "It's too risky, Avernus. Someone may be looking for her. Pack up your things. My men will transport them. You have until morning to finish what you're doing. Whatever it is, make sure the woman doesn't survive it."

"Oh! I can use her? Good, I sense something in her—a strength…. Useful, indeed. This almost makes moving worth while. Very well, I'll be ready to leave by morning."

There were footsteps then Lis heard the door close again. Avernus was chuckling to himself. She tried not to think about the kind of things an ancient blood mage might find amusing.

She heard something like shuffling, the sounds of a struggle, a rough keening sound….

Avernus dragged someone, no, some_thing_, over to the edge of the pit and pushed it in, its deformed body landing next to her. It turned its face, and she could see vestiges of humanity there, all but destroyed by the taint spread by darkspawn.

Its mouth worked as it tried to form speech that it was no longer capable of and it reached out a twisted arm to touch her, or in a plea.

Maker, no! Lis pulled away as far as her short tether would allow, her heart pounding. She didn't know how the taint spread, exactly, but she'd seen what it did to people, how quickly it took them. And there was no cure. It was the most horrific death possible, and the idea of it…. Her stomach heaved and she choked down bile that rose into her throat.

The mage placed a basin by the side of the pit, waved his hands in a mage way then thrust them toward her. The air between them started to shimmer and a glow began to form around Avernus.

Lis could feel her strength fading, no, more than that—her ability to think, to remember, to fight. She struggled against the power that drained her. For a brief moment the glow around Avernus dimmed and she felt some of her strength return.

He laughed. "You _are_ strong, just as I hoped. You should have been a templar. But then I wouldn't be able to do _this_." His hands thrust forward again and the glow around Avernus grew bright and unwavering. Lis went limp. She felt herself drifting away.

Fading in and out of consciousness, Lis had no idea what the mage was doing, only that it would end in her death. Avernus worked spell after spell, and with each one, she grew weaker.

After some time—Lis didn't know how long, but it felt like hours—Avernus raised a hand toward the tainted thing beside her and made a pulling motion. A fountain of blood rose from the creature, from its skin, mouth and eyes, to arch into the air and poured into the basin like thick wine filling a goblet. It convulsed, then went still.

Closing his eyes, Avernus raised his hands. The glow around him spread outwards, centering on the basin. He opened his eyes and reached a hand out toward Lis. Avernus made the pulling motion again. A red haze filled her eyes and she couldn't see. Blood poured out of her mouth and nose—she couldn't breathe. Blind and choking, she thought of Fergus. After all they'd survived, she was going to die after all, and he'd never know what happened to her.


	7. Chapter 7

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page. Also, due to the current difficulties in posting, and the relative shortness of the previous chapter, I've decided to post a second one now (before something else goes wrong ;) ), rather than waiting until Thursday. So here it is!

* * *

Alistair had been right about the mountain weather—in part. The journey to Soldier's Peak had been a march into winter. Not the thigh-high drifts and brutal cold they'd encountered on their last trip to Warden's Keep, but close enough to be uncomfortable. The oaks had already lost their leaves and by the time they'd gone a day's journey into the mountains, they reached areas where snow had already fallen, enough to cover the ground with a blanket of white.

Alistair wondered what it would look like in high summer when the snow had melted. He never seemed to get to see that. Flowers were still blooming everywhere else, but here, it was fall no longer.

The snow grew deeper as they climbed, which was particularly challenging to Oghren where it had drifted. Luckily, the trail had been broken by previous travelers heading down the mountain, so those spots were few. Nevertheless, Alistair learned some appalling new words.

They were nearing the pass to the Keep when Leliana stopped them, raising a hand. Her voice was hushed when she said, "Listen. Someone is coming down the mountain. A large group, and armed."

She was right. In the distance, Alistair could hear muffled voices and the clatter of armor. He looked around for somewhere to hide and spotted a huge downed oak not far from the path. "There. Behind that tree."

Leliana pulled a bough from a nearby pine and brushed it over their footprints as they left the trail, hiding their path. They hunkered down behind the massive trunk, hidden from view, but also unable to see who approached without revealing their presence.

There was no need to look. Alistair recognized the melodious voice that spoke to the group from dreams, nightmares and memories that felt like both.

Kallian.

He closed his eyes, jaw clenched, as images her flashed through his mind—laughing, caring, angry—and the look on her face at the Landsmeet when she'd handed his life to Anora. Intense and determined, as though having him killed was supposed to mean something to him besides betrayal.

The anger that rose in Alistair hit him like a punch in the stomach. The sorrow that was never far from that anger followed on its heels, driving it on.

Alistair took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He opened his eyes and stared out across the forest—praying to Andraste to give him the strength not to launch himself toward the path and—

And what? Kill her with his bare hands like he'd tried to kill the whore he'd mistaken for her? Get himself and his friends killed?

Fire and blight. He'd thought himself done with this.

When the sound of Kallian's voice faded into the distance, along with the answering responses of her men and the clink of their armor, Alistair rose. "Let's go."

Leliana and Oghren seemed to read the bleakness of his mood, because they made no effort to break the silence that surrounded them for the rest of the day.

Late the next afternoon, they reached the keep, and Alistair was glad of it. He'd had enough of trudging through snow, head down—his thoughts far too focused on Kallian.

When they came around the final bend and were in view the courtyard, he saw Levi Dryden standing outside with his goods as though none of the renovations had ever happened.

Leliana looked at Alistair, her forehead creasing. "That's odd, yes?"

"It's a little cold for an outdoor market."

"It's too sodding cold for anything." Oghren stamped his feet. "I could use a warm fire and a nice strong brew to warm me. Glad we made it before dark. I'm not up for another night of camping in the snow. Times like this, I almost miss Orzammar."

They reached Levi, whose mouth was hanging open as he stared at Alistair. "You're alive—Maker be praised!" He stepped forward and clapped Alistair on the back exuberantly. "What a sight for sore eyes, you are! The commander told me about the queen saying she'd kick the Wardens out if you didn't die, and how it was the only way to save Ferelden, for all it broke her heart to let the queen have her way.

"Guess you escaped? I should have figured you would, seeing how you killed those demons and all. A few guards are probably nothing to the likes of you. I bet the commander was happy to see you! You met her on the way up, right?"

"Happy, yes." Kallian would have been happy, all right. Happy to kill him, and do it right this time. Alistair was astonished that Levi seemed this pleased to find him alive. He didn't know what to make of it. "Why are you standing outside?"

"Well, let me tell you, Alistair, I don't want to complain. This has been a fine, safe base for trade, but the commander could've given us some notice before kicking us out. Now we have to stand here in the snow until my brother gets back from Highever, don't we?"

"What are you talking about, Levi? Kallian kicked you out?"

"She showed up last week. Didn't say anything about it until a couple of days ago, then kicked us out and locked the place up tight. Took off right after with that mage and her soldiers."

Maker blood, Kallian had taken Avernus with her. Why? What was she up to—and where was Elissa Cousland? "Is Kallian here often?"

"I wouldn't say 'often,' but it was no big surprise to see her. She comes by from time to time to take some of the things you left in that armory or put some new stuff in. Sometimes, she's just here to see the mage—and she brings folks for him to try and heal from the taint." Levi shook his head. "Never seems to take, though. Not a one ever comes out again. Well, better they end their days here with someone taking care of them than spreading the taint around, I guess. We keep our distance, that's for sure."

He sighed and crossed his arms. "I don't suppose I mind leaving too much, really. It was all right when the Wardens first came, even if they weren't as nice as you and the commander, but once they went back to Amaranthine, I got a little worried. The soldiers that the commander left in their place were a little rough around the edges, if you know what I mean. But the mage started helping those poor tainted folks, and the commander came by more, so I figured everything was okay."

Alistair's eyebrows rose and he glanced At Leliana and Oghren. "Listen, Levi…. We're not sure that everything here has been as it should be. We're going in to have a look. If we don't come back by morning, I want you to go to Highever right away and tell Teyrn Cousland to contact the Chantry and have them send the templars to Soldier's Peak You'll have to give him directions."

"Oh, Maker, it's demons again, isn't it? That mage—"

"No, I don't think it's demons. I think you're safe here. If I didn't, I'd tell you, all right?"

"Well…okay. We have to stay until my brother gets back, anyhow. You be careful in there, Alistair—you, too, Leliana and Oghren. Oh, Maker! I'm not going to sleep a wink until you get back."

Leliana unlocked the door at the entrance and they moved quickly through the keep, searching every room, hoping to find Elissa locked up somewhere as inconvenient, having seen something that Kallian didn't want to explain.

Growing increasingly worried with each empty room they left behind, Alistair began to fear that the situation must be far worse than any hopes they might have had. That fear strengthened when the only place left to search was Avernus's tower.

Once on the wall-walk connecting the keep to the tower, they found the same kind of undead guardians that had met them the last time they'd approached Avernus's lair unannounced, but this time the skeletons had been hacked to little pieces, their bones littering the ground.

Alistair reached out to open the door on the far side of the wall-walk then stopped. "Ugh. Something's been dead a long time. What's with that? Does Avernus's nose not work? Is he just used to it?" He stepped into the room. There were more scattered skeleton parts and a pile of dead darkspawn.

As they moved inside, the pile of darkspawn began to move, rotten flesh quivering as they rose. Alistair drew his sword. "Maker's breath. I was really hoping those were going to stay put."

Leliana pulled her daggers from the sheaths on her back. "I think I'll start using a sword if we encounter these often—dagger's length is far too close. It's disgusting. I'd much rather fight skeletons."

"Just chop them up and stop whining, the both of you." Oghren swung his axe into the corpses, sending chunks of decayed flesh flying.

Within a few minutes, the reanimated darkspawn had been returned to death. Alistair struggled to keep from retching.

It was Kallian's choice to let Avernus live. She'd made him promise to do no harm in pursuit of his research, but it didn't sound like that had stuck.

It hadn't seemed like a good idea to Alistair. People who chopped up their former friends because it was 'necessary' weren't what he'd call trustworthy, but Kallian had felt very strongly that the Wardens needed Avernus's research.

It now occurred to him that every time he and Kallian had really disagreed, it had involved blood magic or things so close to it that he couldn't see any difference. With the exception of her sparing Loghain, of course. And wanting him executed.

Alistair approached one of the two doors that led to Avernus's sanctum. If Lis Cousland was here this was where she'd be. Oh, Maker, let her be all right, please don't let her be dead in this terrible place….

Pushing the door open, he went inside, fear of what he'd find clenching his stomach.

There were still cages hanging on one side of the room, and there were corpses in all of them. At first he thought they were darkspawn, but then realized that most were victims of the taint, all in different stages of corruption, all with their throats slit.

"Maker preserve us!"

That didn't sound good. Alistair swung around to see Leliana staring into a pit in the floor.

"She's here." Leliana knelt down by the edge of the pit. "Andraste's mercy, I think she's dead."

Alistair ran toward Leliana, slipped on something gruesome and nearly tumbled into another of the sunken cells before righting himself. He knelt beside Leliana and looked down into the hole.

The woman inside was barely recognizable from her portrait, she was so covered in blood. But she had the same color hair as Fergus, was wearing fine plate armor, and really, who else could this be?

She was slumped to her knees—her hands tied and held over her head by a short rope that bound her to a large central pillar. There was no movement from her at all, not even breathing, that Alistair could see, and the small patches of skin that were visible through the drying blood were deathly white.

Standing, Alistair started taking off his armor, preparing to jump down to her. No sense adding the weight of his plate.

His mind raced through the things that Fergus would say when told of his sister's death. "Are you sure she was dead? Did you try and heal her?" Worst of all, as Alistair knew from bitter experience, "If only I'd been there, I might have been able to do something, anything, stopped it from happening—why couldn't it have been me?"

Clad only in his gambeson and wool pants, he held out a hand. "Leliana, can I use one of your daggers?"

She handed him a dagger, still staring at the blood soaked woman in the pit. "Poor Fergus, to lose her, too, after everything…."

"How are you planning on getting out of there, duster?"

Alistair looked at Oghren impatiently. "You're going to pull me out, of course."

"Her, maybe. You can lift her high enough that we should be able to do the rest, but your hands aren't even going to reach the top. We're supposed to kneel down to grab you, and then pull you straight up? You're not so light, even without your armor."

"I'm getting her out of there. Dead or alive, we're not leaving her here."

"Not arguing with you, just saying maybe you need to wait until we find some rope."

"Find a rope, then, but I'm not waiting. She might be alive. I might be able to do something." Alistair held onto the edge, lowering himself into the pit, then dropped the last few feet.

Once in the pit, he could see that there was a body there that was just as covered in blood as Elissa Cousland—a blight victim like those in the cages. He could sense its taint. His heart sank. Even if Elissa was alive…. "Leliana, there's a body down here. Tainted. I think a lot of this blood came from it."

"Is she…?"

"I can't tell. The taint is too thick here—I can't tell if it's coming from her."

Reaching down, he put his fingers to Lis's neck, on the spot at the base of the jaw where the heart's beats echoed. Was that a faint beat? Was it wishful thinking?

He cut the rope that tied her to the post, eased her to the ground and then carefully sliced through the bindings on her wrists. Her hands were cold, but not dead-cold, and not stiff.

There were no obvious wounds, although it was difficult to tell with so much blood. It was probably more accurate to say there were no holes in her armor.

Alistair stood and raised a hand toward Leliana "Give me a healing draught."

She took a vial from her pack and handed it down to him. "She lives?"

"I don't know, but I don't know that she's dead, either."

He lifted Lis's head let the potion drip into her mouth, just a few drops at a time since she couldn't swallow.

Alistair put his fingers to her neck again. Yes! There was the faint echo of a heartbeat. Thank the Maker! She was alive—now he'd keep her that way and he wouldn't have to tell Fergus that he'd failed.

"Leliana…." He turned his head to look up at her. "She's alive."

"Oh, I'm so very glad. I will pray that she has been spared the taint."

A thick rope dropped into the pit and Oghren looked down at him. "Let's get out of here."

"Just a minute. I'm going to take her armor off. It's covered with tainted blood, and the less of that we take with us, the better."

Alistair unstrapped her armor, leaving her clad in a gambeson and pants similar to his own, then pulled her over his shoulder and stood. He moved to the wall of the pit and lifted her as high as he could, her back balanced against the wall. It was very awkward and he struggled to get her within reach of Leliana and Oghren, but they were able to grab her arms and pull her out.

He took the rope, giving it an experimental tug. Oghren must have tied it off on something, because it stayed in place. Alistair climbed out, hand over hand, then looked at Oghren and Leliana, both bent over Lis. "Is she still okay? That didn't hurt her, did it?"

"She still lives, and seems no worse at least." Leliana lifted her head and looked at Alistair. "But we must stay here until her condition improves."

"By 'here', you don't mean this room, do you? If I was her, this isn't where I'd want to wake up."

Leliana looked around them. "Absolutely not here. Can you carry her to the main hall? We can build a fire to keep her warm."

Rather than answering, Alistair crouched down beside Lis and picked her up. He adjusted her position so that her head rested on his shoulder instead of dangling off his arm. Better. "Let's go."

As they walked away from Avernus's tower and through the fortress, Alistair looked at the woman in his arms, trying to figure out what had happened to her, why she was unconscious, and covered in blood, but had no visible wounds. Blood magic, obviously, but what had it done to her? And how could she possibly have survived for so many days without aid?

He sensed no taint in her, but even away from the blood-drenched pit, the miasma of corruption was too strong for him to be sure.

Once they were in the main hall, Oghren put a bedroll front of the huge fireplace at one end of the room and then picked up a piece of wood from a large stack that had been left. He started carving shavings from it with an enormous old dagger he'd found somewhere, hardly the most obvious tool for making kindling. The principle of surface life, he had down, the practice—that was still a little iffy.

A fire would be welcome, though. It was freezing in here and felt like the keep had been unoccupied for weeks rather than a couple of days.

Laying Lis on the bedroll, Alistair took the blanket Leliana held out and covered her. "Should I give her another potion? I should do that, right?" He was at a loss. Alistair knew how to treat all manner of horrific wounds, but he didn't know what to do when nothing looked wrong, but clearly was.

"Yes, do that, Alistair. I will let Levi and his family back inside. The night is too cold to leave them standing in the snow and he may have a female relative who can help me bathe her. We have to get that tainted blood off her." Leliana handed him the pack she carried and turned to leave the hall.

The blood…. "Leliana, wait!"

Leliana turned back. "Alistair?"

"You can't touch the blood. The taint can enter through even the smallest break in the skin. Only Wardens can…." Alistair stared at Leliana. "Oh. This is a problem."

"You should see your face, Alistair. It's most amusing, I assure you."

"But…I can't…. That would be…. Maker's breath, Leliana!"

"Alistair, the Drydens live in a fortress that is covered with snow for much of the year. I'm sure they have some waterproof gloves."

"Good idea." Thank the Maker. That would have been awkward, to say the least. "But you have to burn _everything_ afterwards—the gloves, the clothes you wear, the towels…. And wash the blood off with rags before you put her in the bath. Burn those, too." He frowned at her. "Be careful, Leliana. I don't want you to get tainted."

"I survived the Blight untainted, Alistair, even after battling the darkspawn in the Deep Roads. I think I can give Lady Elissa a bath." Leliana gave him a smile and left.

Alistair turned back toward Lis and Oghren to see a very welcome fire burning in the fireplace, and Oghren staring at him.

"That Chantry scrambled your brains but good, didn't they, nughumper?" He shook his head. "I'll get more wood."

Oghren's opinion of his principles didn't worry Alistair. In fact, as long as Oghren thought he was a prude, he _knew_ that he was behaving as he should. Andraste help him if he ever let Oghren dictate his manners.

Alistair took out another elfroot potion and knelt beside Lis. Lifting her head, he dripped the potion into her mouth as he had the first. It took longer than he would have liked. He had no idea if she was unconscious because she was only clinging to life, or for some other reason. These potions might be keeping her alive. If only they had a healer—someone who would know these things….

Hearing the sound of footsteps, he stood, one hand reaching for his sword.

"Relax, duster." Oghren came in, Leliana and Levi behind him, and dropped the wood he carried next to the pile that had been there when they arrived. "It's a little wet, but it'll be dry by the time we get to it. He looked down at Lis. "There's nothing more I can do here, so I'm going to join the traders for some food and drink."

Leliana pulled Levi forward. "Is this the woman you told me about?"

Eyes wide, Levi looked from Leliana to Alistair. "What happened to her? The Warden-Commander told me she left! I…the Warden _lied_, she…. I thought she was a good person, I thought…Oh, Maker! All this time, the whole time we've been here, has _this_ been going on?"

Leaning forward, Alistair put a hand on Levi's shoulder. "We didn't know either, Levi. We suspected that something was wrong when this lady disappeared, but we didn't think to find anything like this."

"Will she live? I've never seen so much blood on a person."

"We hope so. We think so."

"I hope you're right, I really hope you're right. Andraste's mercy, I can't believe this kind of thing was going on right under our noses."

Leliana took Levi's arm. "I would like to get her cleaned up, Levi. Do you have any female relatives who could help me?

"Well, Aunt Sophie would take one look at her and have a screaming conniption. Cousin Rachel, now, she's made of sterner stuff. I bet she'd lend a hand, and the poor woman can't be left like that, can she?" He looked down at Lis. "That bedroll's good for nothing but garbage with all that blood on it, and you'll need another for whoever put that under her. I'll get them for you." Levi glanced at Alistair. "Do you have armor for her when she needs it? I guess she'll need new under padding as well, won't she?"

Alistair nodded. "Under padding, yes—we'll have to burn what she's wearing. And the bedrolls, too. Thanks, Levi. I left some decent armor here in the armory, and if we can't find her weapons, I have some of those, too. We have that covered, if everything is still there."

"I still can't believe it." Levi shook his head. "You just can't tell about people, can you? At least I was right about you lot. I'll bring Cousin Rachel to you right away along with something for the lady to wear until she's up and around. And don't you worry about food, either. We've got some nice soup for her when she wakes and something more substantial for you two. Unless you want to join us, like Oghren? You're more than welcome…."

"No, but thank you, Levi." Leliana gave him a smile. "It would be better if we stay here, in case she wakes."

"I figured as much. Back in a trice with Cousin Rachel and the things you need to bathe the lady."

As they watched him leave, Leliana looked at Alistair. "He's a good man. So shocked, but so quick to put it aside when he sees that help is needed. The Drydens are fine people."

She looked at Lis "I've already made a fire and heated water in the kitchen. If you can carry her there, we'll do the rest. I'll let you know when she's clean and dressed."

An hour later, Leliana called him and he carried Lis back to the fire. She was clean right to the ends of her hair and tucked into a new bedroll.

Now—finally—Alistair could tell for sure if she was free of the taint. His stomach tightened. Andraste's blood, if she was tainted, they couldn't let it spread, they'd have to—no, he wasn't going to think about that.

He closed his eyes and looked for taint. It was different, looking for it in a person rather than using his senses to find darkspawn, fainter, more subtle….

Nothing. Not a hint of corruption. Maker's breath, that was pure luck, and nothing more. His breath caught as relief swept through him. If the mage hadn't done something to her mind, or some other blood mage-y thing that Alistair couldn't even imagine, then she'd be all right.

"She's untainted."

Leliana sat down in front of the fire. "Praise Andraste. It would have been a terrible thing for Elissa to lose her life here, after surviving so much, and for Fergus to lose the only family he has left. And more so if it was we who had to kill her because of the taint."

"Leliana!" Alistair was startled by the simple calm with which she came right out and said what he could barely bring himself to think.

"Do not be so shocked, Alistair. You know what we would have had to do. There's no point in trying to hide from the truth by not speaking of it."

Sometimes Alistair forgot the ruthless practicality that lay under Leliana's piety and desire to emulate Andraste's mercy whenever possible. People who confused her devotion with weakness would be wrong.

He grimaced. "I don't think we need to tell her or Fergus how chancy this was. It will only worry them, and to no point. Agreed?"

Leaning back on her arms and nodded. "Agreed. All we need say is that she was untainted."

"Right." Alistair sat back, watching Lis. "Now we wait for her to wake up, I guess."

Hours later, she was still unconscious and that worried Alistair. Why hadn't she woken? Was she ever going to wake up?

He looked at Leliana. She was lying on one side next to the fire, her head propped up on one hand, and her eyes closed. "Leliana, why don't you get some sleep? There's no sense in both of us keeping watch."

Leliana opened her eyes a little. "Mmmm."

"Go to bed."

She pushed herself upright and rubbed her eyes. "What?"

"Get some sleep. I'll wake you in a few hours."

"I think I'll do that, Alistair. It seems I'm sleeping anyway."

He pushed aside the half empty plate of food that Levi had brought him and took a sip of his wine, thinking how much easier it was to be injured yourself than to see someone else hurt and not be able to do anything about it.

What if she didn't wake up? What could he tell Fergus then? Only that Avernus would die as soon as Alistair could find him, and that wasn't enough.

Leaning back against the legs of the chair behind him, he put his cup down and let out a deep breath. Andraste's sword, he was tired. The journey from Denerim at a quick march, four days of pushing through snow to get to Soldier's Peak, the horror of what they'd found in Avernus's lair, not to mention nonstop worry since Anora had told them Lis was missing….

Thinking of her as "Lis," that was wrong. He really had to stop doing that. It was a family and friends sort of name. He should be thinking of her as Lady Elissa…. He should…. His eyes closed.

His shoulder slipped from where he leaned against the chair leg, jolting him awake. How long had he been asleep? Alistair looked at Lis—Lady Elissa.

She was looking at him, her light blue eyes clear and aware—if kind of bloodshot.

He sat up and pulled himself closer to her. "You're awake! How do you feel?"

"'Bad' pretty much covers it. And thirsty." She tried to sit up.

"Take it easy, there—you weren't in very good shape. Let me help." Alistair helped her sit up, put a rolled up bedroll behind her, and handed her a cup of water. "Are you hungry?"

Lis shook her head. "What happened to Avernus?"

"He left before we got here, but we'll find him."

She lifted an arm and examined it, then lifted her blanket and glanced under it. "I don't seem to be wearing the clothes I arrived in, and I know I was a lot less clean." Lis frowned at Alistair, her jaw set, and suddenly he saw the resemblance to her stern portrait. He thought that was probably not a good thing.

Alistair held up a hand. "I didn't do it. Honest. That was my traveling companion, Leliana, and Levi's cousin, Rachel. They thought you'd feel better if you woke up clean. You've been treated with the utmost respect since we found you."

Since they'd found her…. Oh, Maker, that hadn't even occurred to him. He realized he was scowling and tried to look like he wasn't thinking anything like what he was thinking.

"Andraste's ass, I hope you don't play cards, Ser Knight. You look positively stricken. Avernus wasn't interested in groping me, or anything else along those lines, just…."

Her gaze grew unfocused and she frowned, her lips compressed. Her hands, which had been resting on the blanket, clenched.

Alistair reached out and picked up her hand, covering it with his own. "Lady Elissa, can you tell me what happened?"

"You know who I am? How?"

"Your brother was worried about you. That's why we're here. I'm sorry to come back to this, but I need to know what Avernus did, if you can tell me."

"Call me Lis." She paused, as though collecting her thoughts, or steeling herself to remember. "I was trying to find out what Avernus was doing, so when I had the chance to sneak in when he wasn't there, I took it.

"The sneaking didn't work out so well. I was fighting my way through the skeletal guards when Avernus must've been alerted to my presence. He paralyzed me and threw me in that pit.

"I heard a woman say that Avernus should finish what he was doing and to make sure I didn't survive. I didn't recognize her voice at the time, but…I think it was the Warden-Commander, Kallian Tabris. She was here, I saw her arrive. That was why the mage left the tower. She told him they were leaving in the morning—because someone might come looking for me."

Alistair's mouth tightened. Was there nothing Kallian wouldn't do? Had she always been capable of something like _this?_ "She was right, someone did. What happened then?"

"He pushed something—someone—tainted into the oubliette. It…tried to touch me. Avernus did something that took all my strength. I couldn't think properly. There was a glow around him which grew brighter as I weakened and he cast many spells. For what, I don't know.

"He moved his hands and blood poured out of the tainted…thing and into a basin. He did something to the basin, then pulled my blood out of me. I don't remember anything after that." She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts.

Lis pulled her hand from his and closed her eyes. "Maybe I'm tainted, now. Maybe I'll turn into something like that creature."

"You won't. You aren't tainted."

She looked at him again, tight lines around her eyes. "How do you know?"

"I'm a Grey Warden. I can sense the taint, and there's none in you. I checked. You don't have to worry about that."

"A _Warden?_ And just what do you have planned, then?"

"Planned? Nothing! Well, except to take you to Highever. What else would I have planned?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe burning a city or two, some deals with darkspawn, a little blood magic of your own…. Or maybe this is all part of some plan of the Warden-Commander's—let me think I'm safe, then…"

Her gaze, which had been moving around the room, fixed on the dagger that Oghren had used to make shavings. She threw off the blanket and rolled toward it, grabbing the weapon, then staggered to her feet, dagger raised.

Alistair jumped to his feet, lifting his hands. "No! That's not who the Wardens are. Kallian isn't—she's wrong! We don't—"

"Apparently you do!"

"Look, whatever you think if the Wardens, and I can see how you might have gotten a bad impression—"

"A bad _impression?_"

"I wouldn't do any of those things!"

"I have no reason to trust a Warden. The ones in Amaranthine did everything she asked. Why should I believe you?"

"Well…uh…. I'm not like them?"

"Prove it."

"Uh…."

Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted to one side. "Wait…. I recognize you. You're the man on the pamphlet, aren't you? The one with five hundred sovereign bounty on your head."

"Okay, sure, we can talk about that—a little change of pace from the imminent stabbing…. That's always nice. Yes, unfortunately, I am."

"Unfortunate to be you? Or unfortunate to have the bounty on your head?"

"A bit of both, really."

"And why does someone from the Vigil want you so dead?"

"It's a long story, and I can't say I understand it myself, really. Let's just say that Kallian doesn't like me much. This isn't the first time she's tried to get me killed."

One of her eyebrows rose and she was silent for a minute, just…staring.

Alistair wasn't sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn't fight Fergus's sister. She was a skilled warrior, for all that Leliana and Rachel had put her in a silly looking dress, and being a little wobbly might not slow her down too much. If she came at him, it would be to kill. And since his armor was piled beside him on the floor instead of on him, where it would be if he'd anticipated anything like this, he'd have to react as such. That was unacceptable.

Finally, she said, "What's your name, Warden?"

"Alistair. My name is Alistair."

"A Grey Warden named Alistair.'" She let the dagger drop to her side and rubbed her eyes with one hand. "Andraste's flaming sword, why didn't you say so?'

"What do you mean?"

Flipping the weapon around, she handed it to him, handle first. "Why didn't you tell me that through some impossible twist of fate and remarkable circumstance, my brother managed to send Alistair _Theirin_, the rightful—and dead—king of Ferelden to fetch me home?"

"_That_ makes me trustworthy? Why?"

"Eamon wouldn't have backed you if it didn't. He can be stiff-necked, and his wife is an idiot, but he's honorable."

"Well, I'm no rightful anything, just a fellow whose attempt to take the throne failed abjectly. And not dead, but you'll have figured that part out."

Her mouth pulled up to one side. "You can keep telling yourself that, but it doesn't make it true. Not the dead part. You're clearly not dead, but you can't change who you are."

"You're a lot like your brother."

She smiled "He's nicer." Lis sat down on the bedroll and stretched her legs out. "Maker's breath, that got the blood flowing."

"You do seem to be feeling better."

She let out a sigh. "Yes. I suppose I am. Tired, though." Lis closed her eyes for a moment before looking at him again. "What about the rest of it? What did Avernus do to me?"

"He used took your life force, adding it to his own power so that he could work stronger magic than he's be capable of on his own. As to what he was doing with the blood and the basin, I don't know, but it'll have to be stopped. In any case, it's not something that will have a long term effect on you. Your strength will return." Alistair smiled. "Quickly, I gather."

"How did you find me? No one knew I was here."

"The queen guessed that you might have gone to Soldier's Peak. I told your brother I'd find you. Well, not just me, my friends and I. He wanted to come himself—very much—don't doubt that, but I convinced him that famine wouldn't wait for a trip to the Warden's keep, and for all we knew, beyond. We weren't sure you'd still be here and that we wouldn't have to look elsewhere."

"I should probably be glad Fergus didn't come himself. I'm never going to hear the end of this." Lis leaned back against the rolled up bedroll.

"He did say something about going off alone to confront blood mages. You might want to cut back on the traveling to the most dangerous possible places by yourself—unless you want to take years off his life."

"Ah, so not only did Fergus send you to find me, he also arranged for you to deliver his lecture—with less yelling, I'll admit."

"There can be yelling." Alistair raised an eyebrow. "Should there be yelling? I don't know how these things work. I never had family, myself. If I _did_ have a sister, one I was close to, I'd feel a lot better if she took people with her when she wanted to go kill things."

Lis leaned back on her arms and looked at the dress she wore. "This is a hideous dress. It simply couldn't be more garish. I'm not much for dresses, anyway, but this…."

"You should say nice things about that dress. I think its Aunt Sophie's best." Alistair laughed at her disbelieving expression. "We'll get you more appropriately attired tomorrow." He frowned, thinking how best to put this without worrying her unduly. "Your armor was…unsalvageable, but don't worry, there's some good stuff here. We haven't been able to locate your weapons, so I'll find you some of those, too." Giving her a smile, he added "And don't think I don't recognize a swift change of subject when I hear it. You're speaking to a master of the art."

"I'll be sure to say something approving before casting aside the dress in favor of armor. Speaking of which…is that my father's?" Lis pointed to Alistair's plate where it lay piled on the floor.

Alistair felt his face flush. "Oh…yes. I…Fergus gave it to me. I hope you don't mind. If you do, I can—"

"Don't be ridiculous. I can't think of anything my father would have liked more."

Reaching behind him, Alistair picked up his sword. "He also gave me this…."

Lis smiled. "Elethea's blade. Very appropriate—and a very good sword." The smile faded. "'Just a fellow whose attempt to take the throne failed abjectly.' Why do you say that, Alistair?"

"Well, let's see…. I'm not the _king_. And the only reason I was able to come back without Anora sending her guards after me is that she wants me to look into what's going on in Amaranthine and take care of Avernus. I'm an errand boy, really."

Lis shook her head. "Your only failure was in not picking your allies more carefully. You didn't fail—you were betrayed, just as we were betrayed by Rendon Howe. It's the Warden-Commander's shame, as it was Howe's shame, and none of yours."

Right. And the Black City had turned gold and dropped from the sky, while people who didn't even know him came to his defense—unlike his 'supporters' at the Landsmeet, who'd turned out to be Kallian's supporters, not his. If this was anyone but Fergus's sister, he'd think she was laying it on thick because she wanted something from him—not that he had anything she could want. But since she was….

Alistair stood. "You should try and get some sleep. I'm going to do the same. I'll let Leliana know you're awake. She'll be here to get you anything you need, okay?"

She smiled. "That wasn't so much changing the subject as running from it."

"You're right," Alistair gave her a narrow smile in return and took his leave. What he didn't give was his answer to her words. You can't be betrayed if you don't trust someone in the first place, so the fault is your own.


	8. Chapter 8

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page.

* * *

Lis was up and talking to Leliana when Alistair returned to the hall the next morning, after what could only be called 'a night's sleep' in the loosest sense—too few hours and too many thoughts running around his head.

Worries about Kallian's alliance with Avernus kept him awake—Maker, what was she doing?—and when he'd slept, he still hadn't been free of her. He woke wanting to strangle something, and the feeling lingered.

Leliana gave him a wide smile and gestured at a table where there was bread and cheese on a platter. "Good morning, Alistair. There is plenty left for you."

He nodded, pulled out a chair and sat, eating a piece of bread while watching Leliana and Lis talk. They seemed to be getting along well. That didn't surprise him. It would be more interesting to see what Lis thought of Oghren.

She was still pale, dark circles under her eyes, but she didn't seem shaky the way she'd been the night before. Her hair was pulled into an efficient knot at the top of her head again. It suited her. She seemed to be a no nonsense sort of person. Leliana would get no chat about shoes and other fripperies from Lis Cousland.

Turning away, he stretched his legs out under the table and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. Where would Kallian have taken Avernus? Vigil's Keep? That seemed unlikely. Unless…. Was Lis right? Would the Wardens Kallian had recruited really accept a blood mage and necromancer like Avernus in their midst? Was that really what the Grey Wardens had become? And who were the soldiers who had been here at the keep? A private force? Mercenaries?

"Alistair."

"Hmm?" He opened his eyes. "Oh, Lis…good morning. How are you?"

"Well, all things considered." She pulled the chair next to him and took a seat. "I was just thanking Leliana for her help, and I realized…I never thanked you last night, did I?"

"Well, since you thought I might be in on a plot, thanking me would have felt a bit odd, I can see that." Alistair picked up a cheese knife and cut a slice.

Lis shot him a sideways look, her mouth turning up on one side. "After that would have worked."

"I should be thanking you. If you hadn't sent that bounty notice to Fergus, and if he hadn't gone out of his way to help me, I probably wouldn't have made it to Denerim, so…thank you—and you're welcome. I'm glad I could be of assistance to both you and Fergus." He gave her a glance. "I'm curious—what made you decide to send the notice and advise Fergus to find me?" He offered her a slice of cheese.

She shook her head, then said, "At first, I only knew that things in Amaranthine felt wrong and that the Warden-Commander seemed to be at the heart of it. The rumors of what happened there were shocking to me. Then I heard about a second keep housing a blood mage—one to which Kallian Tabris traveled frequently. I needed real information from a source outside the Vigil.

"I suspected that the bounty came from her and that anyone she wanted dead that badly was someone I wanted to talk to. Eventually, I decided that I couldn't wait any longer and went to Anora. I feel a little foolish for not realizing just who it was that might warrant such a bounty."

"Dead people don't usually have bounties on their heads. Fergus only knew because he'd met me and recognized the likeness—which I don't find flattering." He gave a quick smile. "I'd prefer to think that looks nothing like me."

"Fergus never believed you were dead."

Alistair's eyebrows rose. "Really? Why?"

"He thought that if you were, Anora would make sure people saw…your body."

"That's a disturbing thought." His mouth pulled to one side. "I was thinking it would just be my head on a pike, but she might very well have laid me out on a slab somewhere for the populace to gawk at, maybe handed out rotten produce to fling at my corpse."

"How can you joke about that?"

"What makes you think I'm joking?"

Lis looked away and shook her head, then looked back. "That armor you mentioned…."

"We kept our personal things in an outbuilding that we made into an armory of our own, rather than in the main armory here in the keep. Shall we go see what's there?"

"I'd appreciate that."

"Let's go then."

Alistair pushed back his chair and looked across the room at Leliana. "Is the armory unlocked, Leliana?"

"It is. I went in this morning to get some things."

"Good. I'm taking Lis to get some armor."

"Through the snow in her bare feet?" Leliana pulled off her boots and held them out to Lis.

Taking the boots from Leliana, Lis put them on the floor and pulled one partway on, wincing a little. "Are you sure? I'm going to stretch them out."

"Don't worry. I'd be happy to have an excuse to buy new footwear, even ugly Fereldan boots." Leliana smiled. "Shopping!"

"An excuse you shall have." Lis jammed her foot the rest of the way into the boot, then did the same with the second. "But there's nothing wrong with the way Fereldan boots look."

Alistair led Lis from the keep to their small armory on the far side of the court yard. "You prefer plate, right? That's what you were wearing…."

Lis nodded.

"Well, let's see what's still here." Alistair opened the door, and once inside, took Lis to the back of the armory where the stands of plate armor had been kept the last time he was here. "Andraste's mercy! What is_ that?_"

On a stand by the far wall was the most terrifying armor that Alistair had ever seen. It was utterly black except or the glowing red eyes and nostrils of a creature embossed on the chest piece, as a dragon figured on his own.

Laughing, Lis walked over to examine it. "Not yours, then?"

"Maker, no—that's just disturbing. Kallian must have left it here. And took what I left, apparently." He looked at Lis, lifting an eyebrow. "Don't let that stop you, if it's to your taste. Given that she got your armor ruined and tried to have you killed, I'd say she owes you a set."

Lis moved away from the black armor toward a veridium set nearby. "I think not. That armor might well creep off its stand to kill me in the middle of the night. Disturbing is right. This veridium mail will do nicely. I don't have to wear plate."

Alistair crossed the room and took a shield from the wall. "You should use the Cousland shield I brought from Highever. This one will be fine for me."

The shield was dwarven made—the prize from a Proving that Alistair had won in Orzammar, the heraldry of an arena champion emblazoned on its face. He'd been at loose ends one day, and had decided to compete.

Well, not at loose ends, exactly. More like avoiding what he should have been doing, which was attending meetings with Bhelen, the new king picked by Kallian as the representative of Paragon Caridin.

But Kallian was happy enough working out the details of the treaty herself, and things had been strained between the two of them at that point.

In the Deep Roads, they'd fought about the Anvil of the Void, with him wanting to destroy it, and her wanting it preserved to make more golems for use in the battle against the archdemon. He managed to convince her to destroy the Anvil, and no more souls would be bound to metal prisons, but he'd lost their next argument over her choosing Prince Bhelen to be Orzammar's king. Bhelen may well be a murderer and she'd favored him over Harrowmont—an honorable man who'd been dragged away for execution.

Maker, too bad that hadn't rung any bells.

Kallian had thought Bhelen a more useful long-term ally than Harrowmont, and been unconcerned that he might have murdered one brother and blamed that death on a sibling. Some even thought he'd murdered the previous king, his father, for a chance at the throne. It may not have been true—at least not all of it—but there was an awful lot of smoke for there to be no fire at all.

Alistair had pointed out that they should at least try to uncover the truth—that they couldn't just ignore it, but Kallian thought that not only could they ignore it, but it had no bearing on what was good for the Grey Wardens.

He'd been speechless. Just…speechless. And he really should have learned something right then and there. To Kallian, justice was conditional. Even for murder.

But he hadn't learned that. He'd made excuses. He'd thought that everything would be fine once they got a little rest, that they were just tired—the journey through the Deep Roads had been grueling—but two months later, Kallian spared Loghain, another murderer, and agreed to Alistair's execution.

In any case, on that day, Alistair had been in no mood to meet with Bhelen, and he'd felt like no matter what he said, he was talking at Kallian, instead of to her. They were just going around in circles, so he'd left her to deal with the king she'd made, and gone to the Proving grounds.

Alistair shook his head. Well, at least he got this shield. That made up for _everything_, right?

He glanced at Lis. "I'll just go outside so you can change. Let me know when you're done and I'll show you the swords."

It was a warmer this morning. Alistair squinted in the bright light of sun reflecting off newly fallen snow.

Maybe there was still some fall left even this high in the coastal mountains. It could be that all this snow was the result of an unseasonable cold snap, and it would melt before winter arrived for the long haul. Warm would be good, wet half-melted snow, less so.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Lis waved him back into the armory. The veridium mail seemed to fit well. It looked good on her, too.

Alistair pointed to an array of weapons hung on the wall. "This is everything, I think. Sword and shield? Broadsword? Something else?"

"Sword and shield."

"Kallian seems to have taken her swords, but mine are still here." He crossed the room to point out the four swords he thought would be most suitable. "Oathkeeper, a templar blade, and the least of these…Asturian's Might, wielded by a legendary Warden-Commander…."

Smiling, he touched the next, a veridium blade. "We bought this one from a small boy in Redcliffe. A brave little fellow. It was his father's. He wanted to use it to protect his town, but he was too small to hold it up, let alone use it."

He picked up the sword, the feel of its weight in his hand bringing back memories. "Redcliffe was one of the few places where we really made a difference to people's lives. I…really liked that." Alistair returned the blade to its place.

Pointing to the last, he said, "This once belonging to an elven man named Willem Trialmont who lost his life battling the darkspawn in the Deep Roads long ago. We found it broken into pieces and intended to return it to his grave, but when we put the pieces together, it was made whole and an inscription appeared on it: '_There must always be another to take up arms against the darkness. That is the core of true family beyond kin, and the unifying link that will bring day to night and allow the fallen to rest._' It seemed fitting that I use it against the darkspawn in his name. I always meant to see if his family still lived and tell them of his valor, perhaps return the sword, but…that never happened."

"A worthy sentiment." Lis reached out and took the Trialmont blade. She tested its weight and balance then looked at Alistair. "I would be proud to wield this blade—until his family can be found."

Alistair nodded and tipped his head toward a chest at the side of the room. "There's one more thing I want to get while I'm here, sort of a lucky keepsake." He raised his eyebrows, his mouth pulling to one side. "Maybe I shouldn't have stopped carrying that—just a thought."

Crouching beside the chest, he lifted the lid. It was full of the smaller items they'd carried with them, each with its own memory attached, including the presents that Kallian had given him—ancient, unknown runes, and small statues from cultures long gone.

He picked up a stone dragon, wonderfully carved and intricate. It was still beautiful, but as tainted for him as the memory of Kallian's own beauty. He'd thought this, and the other things she'd given him, showed how well she'd known him, that she…. No. She hadn't known him at all, or it hadn't mattered.

Alistair put the small statue back in the box, remembering the evening she'd given it to him. His hand stilled. Wait…. She's given him that on the way to the Circle Tower to get help for Conner, after they'd argued when she wanted to take the solution Jowan had reluctantly offered. Blood magic.

Looking at each of the other gifts, he realized that for each, there wasn't only a memory, there was an argument that went with it, some action they'd fought about, some contention between them. Andraste's mercy! How could he have been so…gullible—so easily bought? These weren't tokens of affection. They were bribes.

He closed his eyes, anger and shame making him want to slam the lid shut and…no! If she'd manipulated him, well, no more. She had no power over him now.

The hand that still touched the dragon clenched and he forced himself to relax. His runic token would surely be below these things, it was so small. Alistair pushed his hand through to the bottom and tried to find it by feel. Ah! There….

Pulling the token from the chest, he put the cord that held it around his neck, and looked at the circle of yellow stone where it lay against his chest. He ran a finger over the rune carved on it.

There was no memento he had that wasn't a reminder of some kind of loss, but this had been given to him by one of his fellow Wardens. Not only did he value it, but their deaths at Ostagar weren't something he ever wanted to forget, even if he hadn't been able to bring Loghain to justice—even if he hadn't been able to keep the promise he'd made in their memories.

Lis reached into the chest. "This is beautiful."

Alistair looked away from the token to see what she had. Another of the small statues, a delicate carving of a woman wearing robes. "Yes."

"Oh, and look at this one!" She set down the statuette, and reached into the chest to pick up a stone warrior that wore armor not seen for generations. "These are wonderful. Are they yours?"

"Yes." She was clearly waiting for him to say more. He looked away. "They were presents. From a friend." Taking the small warrior from her, he returned it to the chest and closed the lid. "We should get back inside and decide how we're going to proceed."

"You mean decide when I'll be fit to leave, don't you? There's nothing to decide. I can leave now."

He frowned and looked at her again. "You were unconscious for—"

"A strange lethargy clings to me, it's true, but I'm well enough to walk down hill, even through snow. I don't wish to tarry here."

Alistair examined her face. The pallor to her skin was almost gone, her stance was unwavering and her eyes clear—were they really blue, or were they gray? Maker's breath, he really didn't get enough sleep. What difference did it make? "No, I don't think that's a good idea. You lost a lot of blood. You're a lot better, it's true, but I think we'd better stay here for today and see how you feel tomorrow."

"No, you're—"

"The one who will have to carry you down the mountain if you keel over. Look, I want to go, too. I don't like staying here any more than you do, but you came very close to dying. One more day, that's all I ask."

Frowning, Lis crossed her arms and looked down at her feet. After a moment she looked up again, and said, "All right, one day, but then we go."

Alistair nodded. "I really think that's our best course of action.

"This is just to please you. I could go now."

Alistair's mouth twitched as he held back a smile. That was very polite for surly acquiescence. "Consider me pleased, then. Let's go back to the hall."

When they got back inside, Oghren had joined Leliana in the main hall. He met them near the entrance and stared at Lis. "By my ancestors! You clean up good!" He grinned at Alistair. "I like traveling with you, duster. Fine scenery. Especially up in the mountains. Always get a nice view of the…peaks. Heh heh…."

Lis glanced at Alistair, eyebrows arching high.

Alistair gritted his teeth. What would she be making of _that?_ "This is Oghren, Lis." He rubbed his forehead. "He doesn't mean to be…no, he does, but…." He dropped his hand. "Never mind. There's really nothing I can say, is there?"

Turning to Leliana, he said, "Lis thinks she'll be well enough to travel tomorrow, so we'll leave in the morning, if all continues to go well."

Lis raised a hand to forestall the objection that was obviously coming. "I'm not overestimating my strength. As I told Alistair, I'm certain I can travel now, but I agreed to wait until tomorrow."

Tilting her head, Leliana looked at Lis, faint lines on her forehead deepening with concern. "We will see how you feel tomorrow, then."

They spent a reasonably pleasant day at the keep. Oghren drank ale with the Drydens and played cards. Leliana followed Lis around like a mother hen, dosing her with elfroot potions, which was a very good thing as far as Alistair was concerned, and spared him the need to do it himself.

The library had been refurbished, and they were able to find books to entertain themselves, although the selection was small and limited. Alistair was pleased to find a book on the Tevinter Imperium by Brother Genitivi, which was surprisingly amusing. The old scholar's sly humor enlivened what might otherwise have been a dry recitation of facts.

It was quite companionable, lounging around the fire in the main hall, reading, and Alistair found himself feeling relaxed in a way that he hadn't for a long time.

When they tired of reading, they searched the keep again. It seemed unlikely that they would find Lis's weapons at this point, and they didn't, but it gave them something to do until it was time for supper—once again provided by Levi.

They retired early, and by the time they gathered in the hall for breakfast, Lis seemed greatly improved to Alistair. Waiting had definitely been the wisest plan.

As he finished his second cup of tea, Alistair looked at Leliana and Oghren. "So, ready to go to Highever, then?"

Oghren pushed his plate away. "Yep. I bought more supplies from the traders yesterday. They're all packed."

"We can go any time, Alistair." Leliana looked at Lis. "That is if you truly feel up to it."

"I do, but I won't be going to Highever. I'll be going after Avernus."

Alistair shook his head. "Anora wants me to deal with this, and I will, but not until we've taken you to Highever."

Lis's brows drew low. "Go to Highever if you wish, but I won't be _taken _anywhere."

He took a deep breath, and let it out, trying to hold his temper in check. "Look, you don't even know where Avernus is—none of us do. It'll take weeks to find him, maybe months. Your brother will be thinking you dead or worse."

"I'll write—"

Thinking of the unexpected welcome that Fergus had given him—the risk that he'd taken in accompanying them to Denerim, all semblance of diplomacy fled. "Oh, that will relieve his mind, I'm sure! 'Dear Fergus, almost got killed by a blood mage, but I'm fine, so not to worry.'"

"Avernus is a danger to all those around him and I have to stop him. He can't be allowed to escape justice." Her chin lifted. "Fergus will understand the need."

Alistair stood and leaned toward her, his hands on the table. "I'm certain he won't understand a bit, and I gave him my word!"

"It wasn't your word to give—not without being certain that it was a corpse you'd find!" Lis rose from her seat, crossing her arms. "I have a place to start—Amaranthine—and going to Highever and back will lose me a week or more in which all trace of Avernus could be lost. I won't allow him to get away with what he's done, not only to me, but to the poor tainted souls who should have been put out of their misery, not tortured!"

Moving around the table toward Lis, Alistair said, "Your brother trusted me to find you, to bring you home if you lived. That may not mean much to you, but it means a great deal to me! What are we supposed to do, go back to Highever and tell Fergus that we found you, but you went off to do the same blasted thing _again?_"

He crossed his arms and scowled. Andraste's flaming sword, how could she be so unthinking? Alistair knew how she felt. He understood her need to bring Avernus to justice, and yes, to get a measure of revenge for what had been done to her, but she couldn't do this. He couldn't let her do this.

Fergus was a good man who was likely thinking his sister dead. He didn't deserve to be left to feel as bereft as Alistair had when Duncan and the rest of the Grey Wardens had been killed at Ostagar, or while alone in Orlais. And the alternative, that they go back without Lis and tell him that they'd let her go off to do the same thing that had almost gotten her killed…well, that wouldn't do either!

Raising an eyebrow, Alistair spread his hands. "Is it so great a thing to ask that you take the time to let your brother see you alive and well? That you not leave him to imagine that he's lost his sister, as well as his parents, his wife and his child? Would you really leave him to believe himself completely alone in the world for even a few days longer than necessary?" He pointed at her. "When you thought he was in trouble, you walked right into the horde to look for him! Do you think his feelings less than your own?"

"Andraste! You're not merely a bastard by birth, that's certain!" Lis walked away then swung back to face him. "All right. I'll go to Highever, but just long enough to see Fergus." Her eyes narrowed. "Gratitude for your intervention here doesn't give you the right to school my behavior, and I would advise that you not try such a thing again."

She tossed up a hand as she strode toward the door. "If we go to Highever, let us go now. Every minute is one that Avernus will be using to hide himself. I will wait in the entry."

When she'd disappeared from sight, Alistair turned to find Oghren and Leliana staring at him.

"Heh, she's got some fire." Oghren grinned. "You should have used swords instead of all that talking, duster. Would've been just like a Proving—fine entertainment."

Leliana shook her head. "Two peas in a pod. Very stubborn peas…." She sighed. "What a pleasant journey we shall have."

After saying their goodbyes to the Drydens, they set off for Highever. It was a good day for traveling, warm enough for comfort, but cold enough that the snow was still firm underfoot. Alistair walked ahead of the group, partly to break a trail through the most recent snow, partly—mostly—because he felt uncomfortable around Lis, who was speaking to him as little as possible.

She must think it very odd that he'd made something that was really between her and her brother his business. Once he'd calmed down, he could see that. That didn't mean he'd changed his mind, but still…. Awkward.

He'd looked back once or twice to see her trudging along with her head down. It wasn't clear if she was feeling the same strain, or if she was having more trouble with the journey than she'd anticipated. Alistair suggested they stop more often than he would otherwise have done, just in case. They were only about a quarter of the way back to the main road the sun started to slip behind the peaks to the west. Still, that was better time than they'd made on the way up.

When they'd found a clearing that was large enough to build a fire, Alistair approached Lis. She seemed to be avoiding eye contact, which make everything seem just that much more awkward. "Uh…how do you feel? Are you all right?"

She glanced at him, gave a quick nod, and then looked away. "Well enough."

Right. Worse than awkward. Alistair nodded back. "Okay, then."

He walked into the forest. They'd need a lot of wood tonight. It would be cold.

* * *

Lis arranged the boughs that Oghren given her, unrolled her bedroll, and dropped down onto it, her feet stretched out into the snow in front of her. She rubbed her face with her hands.

It felt like she'd walked much further today than she had, and through much more difficult terrain. She knew that she should get up and help set up camp, gather firewood, but she needed a minute.

Being tired wasn't the worst of it. The more she thought about her argument with Alistair, the more embarrassed she became. She could hardly bring herself to look at him.

He must think that she cared nothing for the fact that Fergus had sent them after her, or for his worry.

She thought of when Fergus had been missing after Ostagar, the emptiness she'd felt thinking that her entire family was gone. She'd been so…focused on Avernus, and what he'd done to her, how helpless she'd felt, that she hadn't been able to think of Fergus, or that he must be feeling the same way now.

Pushing herself up off the bedroll, Lis went over to Leliana. "What can I do to help?"

"That depends. You look tired."

"I am, but…I want to do something."

"Perhaps you could build the fire? Alistair and Oghren will bring more wood, but we have enough to get started." Leliana pointed to a small pile of twigs and larger branches that had already been collected and gave her a smile. "Levi gave us a pot of stew to heat—real food! And he gave us some wine, too. We're going to have to start carrying more supplies again, although it's difficult with so few of us. I'm getting sick of dried meat, cheese, and bread." She handed Lis a pouch—flint, steel and some tinder.

Lis took the pouch from her. "Stew will be welcome. I may be tired but I'm certainly hungry." She scraped the snow away from an area large enough for the fire then put a piece of dry bark in the center. Next, she added pitch from a tree at the edge of the clearing and the tinder, before sparking it alight with the steel and flint.

A few minutes later, when Alistair and Oghren returned bearing the first of many armloads of wood, she was adding twigs and had a small, but vigorous, fire going. In another hour, they had hot stew, a roaring fire, and enough wood to see them through the night. After cleaning her bowl in the snow, Lis returned to her bedroll, carrying a cup of wine and wondering if she's be able to stay awake long enough to finish it.

She held the cup between her hands and stared into the fire.

"Um…. Can we talk for a minute?"

Lis looked away from the fire. Alistair was standing beside her, shifting his weight as if he was uncomfortable approaching her. She couldn't imagine why he'd be uncomfortable—she was the one who'd made herself look like a selfish, ungrateful wretch.

Moving over to make room for him, she gestured for him to sit. "Of course." She dropped her gaze to her cup. "About this morning, I—"

"That's what I wanted to talk about. I think I should…I know it must have seemed…." He ran a hand over his jaw and looked across the clearing. "It's been a long time since anyone wanted to help me—or even not kill me. When Leliana and Oghren showed up, I thought that was why they were there. I don't expect to be able to trust…anyone.

"Fergus welcomed me into your home. He made sure I didn't appear before Anora in a warrior's equivalent of rags. He risked her displeasure by marching into the throne room, a full company of knights and soldiers at our backs, so she'd know she couldn't make me disappear with no one being the wiser." He glanced at her. "I just don't have the words…."

He frowned, the lines between his eyes deepening. "I can't think of a single way those things could benefit him. The smart thing to do would have been to slam the door in my face, or take me prisoner and hand me over to Anora." Alistair shook his head. "I know it must have seemed odd that I involved myself in your family affairs. It really isn't any of my business, but I—"

"Fergus is more inclined to look at right rather than benefit. It's not surprising that he wished to aid you, nor did I find your words odd. You were being a good friend to my brother. In fact, I probably wouldn't have gotten so angry if I hadn't known you were right." She smiled. "I hate being wrong, especially when I'm too primed for a fight to turn back." Lis looked down at her cup of wine. "I've been horribly embarrassed all day."

"Embarrassed?" His eyebrows rose. "You have no reason to be."

"Then you don't think I'm a selfish ingrate—with an unpleasant temper?"

"No, I think you have a perfectly natural desire to kill Avernus, and it just got in the way a bit. And you aren't the only one who got angry.

"Just so you know, I'm not allowed to lord it over people about having tempers. Leliana, even Oghren—they can do that. Not me. I lost that right a few dozen snits ago."

Lis laughed loudly and Alistair smiled. It was a different smile than she'd seen before, more relaxed, somehow, and broad enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle. The questions that had been on her mind—about benefit and trust—were instantly dismissed. Too personal on such short acquaintance, and she didn't want to say anything that might change his mood and wipe that smile from his face. Instead, she smiled back and said nothing.

"Well, I'm glad we had this talk. Now we can move onto more important things—like how you really feel, because I'm thinking that 'well enough' doesn't cover it."

"I may have over-estimated my strength a little, but considering the condition I was in when you found me, I am, indeed, well enough. There's no need for concern, truly." Lis sighed. "I've never been a sickly person. I find this debilitation…most annoying."

"I should let you rest." Alistair stood. "You'll say something if you feel no better tomorrow, right?" He lifted an eyebrow. "Right? I don't want to have to drag it out of you."

She waved him off. "Goodnight, Alistair. Enough solicitude. I'll say something, without prodding, if need be. I promise."

Watching him walk away, she thought about what it must have been like for him, exiled, betrayed and alone in the world—believing every Fereldan hand raised against him. Lis found herself very glad that she hadn't asked why he thought that only one with something to gain would aid him. It was stupidly obvious.

* * *

The next morning, Lis found that she felt much more as she should, and had no need to discuss her health, with or without prodding. The fear that had been with her since her capture by Avernus faded, leaving an intense relief in its place.

She'd dreaded the possibility of permanent impairment, even with Alistair's assurances to the contrary—who knew with blood magic? That would have been the end of her life as a warrior, and she couldn't imagine anything less fulfilling than the pursuits of a noble lady that would have replaced it, for all her mother and Oriana had seemed to find those things satisfying.

Alistair gave her a look as they packed up their camp, an eyebrow raised inquiringly. She grinned in response, earning a smile in return.

They carried bread and cheese with them as they started down the trail again, unwilling to take the time for a more substantial meal. It was a much livelier group than had trod the same trail the day before and they made good time. It seemed likely that they'd reach the main road by the next afternoon—a full day faster than the trip up to the keep.

Lis was tired, but it was the tired that was natural after walking through deep snow, not the enervation caused by Avernus's magic, and when Leliana woke her for her watch a few hours before dawn, she was able to rise with no more difficulty than was normal at such an early hour.

After throwing some wood on the fire, she sat down near the warmth of the blaze and let her thoughts wander.

How did you kill someone who could paralyze you as soon as you approached?

From a distance, maybe. Or with enough people that they couldn't all be stopped. Or could they? Could Avernus paralyze all of them—was he that strong?

Alistair said that he'd take care of Avernus. Did he think to leave her at Highever? If so, he didn't know her very well. Lis picked up a stick and poked the fire. But then, Alistair didn't know her at all, did he? Nor did she know him, except that he took his friendships seriously. She wondered if Fergus knew just how loyal a friend he'd made when he welcomed Alistair Theirin to their home.

His moods were a puzzle, though. For much of the day, Alistair had been the most charming of companions—unfazed by difficult terrain, entertaining, even lighthearted—but that had changed in the blink of an eye, and for no clear cause that Lis could point to.

Maybe it was something in the conversation, but she'd heard nothing amiss. Oghren had just said that Orzammar's new king was doing a good job—expanding the army, pushing into the Deep Roads and retaking abandoned Dwarven cities. Thaigs, he's called them.

There was nothing there that seemed likely to bother Alistair, but he'd become withdrawn—silent, or answering with words so sharp they could cut a ham hung a year from the rafters, and he'd stayed that way for a long time.

Lis threw another piece of wood on the fire, glancing at the wood pile. It was getting a little low, and while there wasn't much snow this far down the mountain, it was still cold.

Remembering a downed tree near the clearing she rose to collect some of the larger branches to put close to the fire, where they could dry in case they needed it later.

She was just returning, dragging as many branches as she could, when she heard something in the camp—a loud voice.

Dropping the branches, she ran the short distance to the clearing, pausing outside the light of the fire to assess the situation, but saw no attack at she feared. The camp was empty.

Alistair was moving, and at first Lis thought he'd been woken by the same sound that had drawn her attention, but when he cried out—desperate sounding words she couldn't understand—she realized that it had been him that she heard, struggling in the throes of a nightmare.

As she watched, wondering if she should wake him, he woke on his own, sitting up and covering his face with his hands. She could see them shaking from where she stood, suddenly feeling as though she was intruding on a very private moment.

Leliana and Oghren hadn't woken. Andraste's mercy, did that mean this happened often enough for their sleeping minds to take it as normal sounds of the night?

Lis walked back to the branches she'd dropped, and dragged them the rest of the way to their camp, purposefully making enough noise that Alistair would hear her coming. When she was within the circle of light, Alistair rose, taking some of the branches from her and placing them near the fire without a word.

Blast it, giving him some privacy had seemed like the right thing to do, but now she couldn't ask if he was all right, or wanted to talk, not without admitting that she'd been lurking in the dark, spying on him. And he didn't look all right. He looked haggard, as though his sleep had given him no rest at all.

Well, if he wanted to talk, he would, and if not…. "Tea, Alistair?"

Alistair crouched down by the fire, letting out a sigh. "That would be great."

* * *

They got a very early start that morning, and by the time Leliana and Oghren woke with the dawn, Alistair had said nothing of what troubled him, but was back to being the cheerful, witty man Lis had first met. She had a feeling that this was the real Alistair, and the moods, the nightmares—that was someone else. A lingering shade of past betrayals.

What one did about that, she had no idea, but resolved to be the kind of friend to him that he had shown himself to be to Fergus.

They were in sight of the main road earlier than anticipated and well before dark.

In the distance, a group of Anora's guard filled the space where the path met the road, and spilled into the road itself. There were more than Lis could count at a glance. Forty? More? "Alistair, I thought you said that Anora wanted you to come here."

"She did." He frowned. "There're a lot of them, aren't there? We can't get around them, so I might as well go see what they want."

Leliana looked into the woods. "If we split up, go into the woods here, they will have to split up to follow. We could pick them off…."

Alistair looked at her, his mouth pulled up to one side. "They're probably only interested in one of us." He shook his head. "If they want me, there's no help for it. Don't try and stop them."

"Alistair—"

"No, Leliana. I don't want the last thing I see to be you dying in a hopeless battle. Just…don't do it. Please."

As Alistair walked forward to meet the guards, Lis dropped back so she walked between Leliana and Oghren. "So we're not listening to him, right?"

Oghren looked at her. "What do you think?"

"I think we're not listening to him."

"Sodding right!"

"Indeed, we are not." Leliana narrowed her eyes at the guards. "Once was too often. I'm not letting Anora do this again."

Lis nodded. "Good." She sped up her pace to reach the guards as Alistair did. Perhaps having a Cousland at his side would make no difference, but it might.

The knight leading the group looked at Alistair, his expression unreadable. "Alistair Theirin?"

"Yes."

"I bear a message from the queen." He handed Alistair a sealed letter.

Opening it, Alistair read the contents, a flush rising to his cheeks. His jaw clenched and his brow pulled down in a scowl.

The knight cleared his throat. "My apologies, ser, but I was to return with a response."

Waving the letter, Alistair said, "She wants a response, does she? To_ this?_" He shook his head. "I don't think so. An honest response would put you in the uncomfortable position of repeating it to Anora. Just tell the queen that her message has been received."

The knight nodded. "As you wish." He raised an arm and led his men down the road toward Denerim.

Alistair watched until they disappeared from sight, his face set.

"Alistair?" Leliana reached out a hand to touch his arm. "May I see?"

He handed her the letter, his gaze going to Lis before dropping to the ground.

Leliana read the letter aloud:

"_Alistair,_

_Your demeanor at our last meeting leads me to believe that you may not entirely understand your position. While I have allowed your return, you should be aware that I could just as easily reinstate my order for your execution. _

_I caution you against further involvement with the Couslands, assuming that you genuinely care about the results of such a connection. You will not be allowed access to an army, even one that is not your own, nor will I allow you to gain influence among the nobility. I would dislike having to make a lesson of a family who has been through so much. Pray, do not force me to do so._

_You would also do well to remember your status. I was content to allow you to lead an ignominious life in Orlais, secure in the knowledge that a return to Ferelden would mean your death, but I will not be so lenient a second time. You are the inconvenient product of a lapse in judgment, no more, and that affords you even less protection than your brief position as spurious heir. _

_It is in your interest to remember that your only security lies in doing my bidding whenever I ask, and for as long as I ask. _

_Anora, Queen of Fereldan, Teyrna of Gwaren, etc." _

Lis's eyes were wide. "Wow. That's bitchy. You and Fergus must have really made her mad. I don't think she'd move against us, though. Fergus has too much power, and Howe's actions…they're too recent for anything that smacks of repeating them. My parents were well loved. She's just trying to use us to manipulate you."

Looking at Lis, Alistair lifted an eyebrow. "I don't know. You made the second paragraph. She thought it was more important than the part where she calls me a bastard, and I bet she enjoyed that. I'm not sure we should dismiss it as an empty threat."

He took the letter from Leliana. "Now we know why she sent so many guards. I asked Fergus why we were taking so many men to Denerim, and he said he wanted to send a message. It would seem that Anora wants to send a message of her own—with the side benefit of letting me know how easily she can kill me. As if I didn't know that. She really doesn't think I'm quite bright."

Alistair looked at Leliana and Oghren. "She didn't seem that angry when we saw her at the palace, did she? I wonder if something has happened."

Leliana frowned, tilting her head. "It does seem unsubtle for Anora."

"Well, I'm not going to let her make me into her puppet—a slave who handles the ugly, nasty bits. Not that I have any idea what to do about it at the moment." He put the letter in his pack. "Let's go."


	9. Chapter 9

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page.

* * *

They were barely through the front gates of Highever and into the courtyard, when Fergus ran out of the castle toward them. "Lis! Thank the Maker!" He pulled her into a tight embrace. "I was worried about you." Stepping back, he kept his hands on her shoulders. "What happened—what were you thinking, going there alone? Are you all right?"

"There _was_ a blood mage at Soldier's Peak, I was right about that, but…I was captured through my own stupidity. I'm all right, though. No permanent damage."

"Captured by a blood mage? No _permanent_ damage?" His eyebrows drew down. "What did he do?" When Lis didn't answer, his eyes narrowed. "Evading the question doesn't relieve my mind, little sister."

His gaze went to Alistair, his frown deepening. "Alistair?"

Alistair looked from Fergus to Lis and back to Fergus again. He was about to get into trouble, he just knew it. He decided he'd rather be yelled at for telling the truth than for evading it. "The mage used Lis's life force to power some kind of blood magic. We don't know what kind, but he seemed to be making a potion or something. Whatever he did, it had no effect on Lis once she recovered her strength. She really is fine—now. When we found her, it wasn't so…positive." He glanced at Lis. That was a bone-chilling glare she was aiming at him. Oh, good.

Fergus let go of Lis and rubbed his forehead, eyes closed. "Andraste's blood!"

He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, then said, "You'll want to refresh yourselves. We can talk later. The servants will show you to your rooms and bring you anything you need." He wrapped an arm around Lis and pulled her to him again. "Welcome home, Lis."

As Alistair approached the entrance to the Hall, Fergus grabbed him and waited for the others to disappear from sight. "Is she truly well?" He released Alistair's arm.

"As far as I can tell, yes. She seems to have recovered completely."

"And you're holding nothing back—to spare my feelings?"

Alistair shook his head, and answered slowly, considering his words. "No… it was ugly, Fergus, but she's handling it better than I might. And nothing more happened than I've told you. "Uh, you know she's going to want to come with us—to kill the blood mage?

A tight smile pulled at Fergus's mouth, and his eyebrows rose. "I have met my sister, Alistair."

"Right. No surprises, then."

"I can't say it's what I'd prefer, but at least I know she'll be with you, instead of alone." His expression serious, Fergus laid a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Thank you."

Alistair gave a nod. "I'm just glad that things turned out so well."

Fergus led him out of the courtyard and into the main hall. "We'll meet in the study after dinner to talk about your plans. There's something you should probably know."

* * *

Alistair leaned against the back of the wooden library chair, and watched Fergus take his place behind the desk, remembering the last time they'd sat in this study, that first night Alistair had been back in Ferelden.

Everything felt so much different now. He cautioned himself against believing it actually was. He might be welcome in Highever, even comfortable, but that wouldn't be the case in most of the Bannorn. He was still the exile, the bastard pretender to the throne who was dead to most—even if Anora wasn't actively trying to kill him. Nothing was really different. Thinking that it was would only cause trouble.

Still, he was warm, full, clean, and they'd found Lis alive, returning her to her home and brother. At this moment, things were pretty good. It was okay to enjoy that for tonight.

Fergus poured each of them a goblet of wine then lifted his for a toast. "To my sister, for all she turns my hair gray, and to valiant comrades—you will always be welcome in Highever, my friends." He drank, as did they all, and sat. "So, do you know where this blood mage might be?"

"Amaranthine would be the place to start. Avernus left with Kallian Tabris. If they aren't at Vigil's Keep, then someone there will have an idea where they are." Lis pulled her chair closer to the desk and put her goblet down.

"That's going to be a problem, isn't it?" Fergus looked at Alistair. "We were attacked just going near there. I might have scared some of those ruffians by invoking the Cousland name, but five hundred sovereigns is more than most could make in a lifetime. There will be others less easily dissuaded from seeking that bounty on your head."

Lis frowned. "Attacked? When?"

"On our way to Denerim to see Anora. Lis…Ser Alan was killed."

"Oh, Fergus! He was a good man. How is his wife?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked about that, because I hired her to be your maid."

Lis frowned. "But I don't use a maid."

"That's why I hired her for you. I wanted to give her a stipend, but she refused thinking it charity, rather than a means of honoring her husband's sacrifice, so…." Fergus smiled. "I gave her a job that entailed no work."

"Devious, dear brother. Good thinking."

She looked at Alistair. "It does sound like Amaranthine might be a problem. How do you want to proceed?"

"What? You're asking me?"

Lis's eyebrows rose. "Why wouldn't I? That's why Anora brought you back, isn't it? To decide how to stop the blood magic, and what to do about Kallian?"

"Because she values my opinion?" He lifted an eyebrow. "No. That's definitely not why she brought me back. More like Warden politics and my high degree of expendability. That and she's reasonably sure that I'm not a spy for Orlais, or some such. I just couldn't be more flattered."

Leliana frowned at him, her eyebrows pulling down and her lips pursing.

Alistair sensed a lecture in his future. Maybe he could avoid that. "Well, maybe she does value my opinion about this—in a really, really small way." He took a breath. "Okay. It would probably be a good idea to approach through the forest, rather than by road, to minimize the chances of ambush, but once we get there…well, there's not much we can do except get in and out as fast as we can."

"You could stay in camp, Alistair, but I'm guessing you don't want to do that." Lis smiled.

Alistair shrugged. "I could do that, but if you run into trouble in town, I'd like to be there, and if I was discovered in camp, alone, it might be a bit of a challenge, depending on how many of them there were."

Lis nodded. "You're right. There are too few of us to split up."

"We could disguise you." Leliana eyed him in a critical way that made Alistair nervous.

"Like…how?"

"We could darken your hair with a decoction of black walnut hulls and…how fast does your beard grow?"

"Not fast enough to make me anything more than un-groomed by the time we get to Amaranthine."

"Too bad…. Darkening your hair, alone, won't do much. Hmmm…." She tapped her fingers against her lips. "We could cut off all your hair. It's a shame you wear it so short. If it was longer, we'd have more options—as it is, we'd have to shave your head, I think. That would change your appearance greatly."

"No. Absolutely not." Alistair shook his head. "I like my plan. I say we go with that. It's my head on the line, and if I lose it, it will be with hair. I'll just wear my helm. It won't look too odd if I push the visor up. "

"Heh, you're as vain as a woman, duster." Oghren drained his goblet, and held it out to Fergus to be refilled.

"I'm not vain."

"So you say." Lis leaned back in her chair and laughed.

"I just, um…." Alistair searched for a way to shift the conversation to something less embarrassing and remembered Anora's letter. "Oh…Fergus, you should see this." He passed Fergus the letter. "I should have brought it up earlier. I don't want to cause you any problems with Anora. She had a lot of soldiers waiting for us on the road from Soldier's Peak, just to be intimidating, apparently. One of them gave me this."

Fergus read the letter, wincing at one point. "I think I caused this. Sorry." He looked at Alistair. "This is what I mentioned when you arrived—that I wanted to tell you about." He gave the letter back to Alistair. "I hope they didn't give you too much trouble."

"It was a bit unnerving, but no trouble. What happened?"

"After you left for Soldier's Peak, I went down to the market. I was puzzled as to why there would be such shortages in the Alienage.

"My men deliver the food to Sergeant Kylon, and his people take care of it until it's distributed. He was sure that nothing was going missing on his end. He'd put the fear of the Maker into his men about that, and kept a close eye on them, as well.

"He also told me that there's been another riot and that Anora sent in her guards. Full force this time. The results were about what you'd expect—bad for the elves.

"Anyway, the sergeant and I decided to set a little trap. When the next shipment arrived, we followed when Anora's guards picked it up. They only delivered a portion of what the Alienage should have received and took the undelivered crates away with them.

"The next day, I went to see Anora. We had words about it."

Leliana leaned forward. "Why would Anora do such a thing?"

"She didn't like being questioned, but eventually she admitted that, with food in short supply throughout the Bannorn, she'd made a priority of sending food to the nobility, and particularly their armies. Hers, as well, of course."

Oghren nodded "She thinks like a dwarf. A hungry army is a dangerous one."

"It isn't right to deprive one group of citizens to feed another, Oghren!" Leliana pointed her empty goblet at Oghren, prompting Fergus to take it from her hand and refill it, returning it with a smile.

"It might not be right, but it's smart."

Alistair looked down at his nearly empty goblet, frowning. "The elves should have a vote at the Landsmeet. That would make this sort of thing less profitable."

"Well, Anora's not about to do that, especially not now." Fergus leaned across the desk to pour Alistair some wine.

"But the riots! All that bloodshed…. She could have avoided that!" Leliana's eyes were wide with dismay.

Lis shook her head. "The average Fereldan doesn't care about elves, Leliana. They do care about their own stomachs."

"Everyone looks out for themselves ," Alistair muttered swirling his wine.

"What?"

He glanced at Lis. "You know how sometimes someone says something…not so nice, and you think it's a clever way of saying something else, but really, they meant exactly what they said?"

She lifted an eyebrow, tilting her head.

"No? Lucky you." He shook his head. "Not important." He turned to Fergus. "So she was angry about you questioning her division of the food?"

"Uh…no." He pointed to the letter in Alistair's hand. "Not that angry. I told her that Highever would be delivering a share of food directly to the elves from now on. That's probably what prompted the letter. It didn't occur to me that she'd find a way to blame you."

"Ah. Yes, I can see her having a problem with that."

Lis grinned at Fergus. "Remember that I'm very proud of you when our heads roll, brother. I may get to show Anora my bare rear, after all—once we have nothing to lose."

Alistair's fingers tightened on his wine goblet. He bit back the urge to tell Lis just how absolutely not funny it was to be dragged away for execution. She wasn't thinking about the reality of it. That was just the way she saw the world—as though she was invulnerable.

He frowned. Or was it? She's almost died at least twice. Her family _had_ died…. Maybe she'd talk exactly that way as she met her end, daring her foe to kill her, mocking them. Maybe it was the use of blood magic, the threat of taint that had unnerved her at Soldier's Peak, not her near death.

He looked at Fergus, expecting to see concern for her rashness, or irritation, but Fergus only laughed. But then, he'd defied Anora to her face. Maker's breath! These Couslands were sure of themselves! Alistair took a sip of his wine and tried to imagine the kind of life that inspired that.

After filling Oghren's goblet again, Fergus looked at Alistair. "This search for the blood mage may take some time. You'll need to be better provisioned. Food, cooking gear—and the rainy season will start soon. You'd best have tents unless you want to end up huddled on the wet ground under trees. I'll have my people put that together for you." He smiled. "It will take a couple of days, but I'd insist that you stay at least that long anyway."

"Fergus…" Lis put her goblet down and looked at her brother, her jaw set. "I know that I've only just returned, but I'll be going with them."

Fergus nodded. "Alistair mentioned that—and guess what, sister? I wasn't surprised a bit."

"He did?" She looked at Alistair, her eyebrows rising.

"I'm not one to get in the way of proper justice."

Lis gave a tooth baring smile. "That works out well, then, because I'm going to make Avernus regret that he ever used blood magic against me. He won't be doing that again. Or anything else."

Alistair was glad that smile was for Avernus, and not for him.

* * *

The next morning, Alistair found himself with nothing to do. Their gear was being gathered, and he understood Fergus's need to spend time with his sister before she left again on a mission of unclear length, but idleness chafed.

He wandered into the library. It had been a long time since he'd had access to a collection of this size and free time to make use of it. Picking out a few books that looked appealing, he sat down and read for a while, but his interest flagged. He found himself staring into space and drumming his fingers on the table.

Alistair shared Lis's impatience to take action, although he hadn't let her see that. He couldn't make sense of Kallian's actions and that worried him. Everything that he knew about Avernus's research was repugnant. While it was tempting—and very easy—to assume the worst about her in light of what she'd done to him, she _had_ saved Ferelden from the Blight. Well, not alone. Much as is made Alistair's stomach turn, it had been Loghain who killed the archdemon, but Kallian had led them into that final battle. The deal with this…Architect, though, and her alliance with Avernus…. It looked very bad.

She'd always shown a willingness to go down darker paths than Alistair considered acceptable. 'Whatever it takes,' she'd said.

He hadn't disagreed—not in principle. Not when they were fighting a Blight, but he'd thought such lengths should only be considered when every other avenue had been exhausted, when there was absolutely no other choice, even a riskier one, and that some things were just…unconscionable. There were things you just couldn't do and be any different than the horde.

Alistair had thought he'd convinced her of that, as he'd turned her from using blood magic at Redcliffe, and against preserving the Anvil of the Void, each use of which cost a soul.

Now he wondered. Maybe she'd just let him think she agreed, as she'd let him think that all was well between them—right up until it was completely obvious that it wasn't. There was no pretending once execution was on the table. He couldn't know what she really believed, or what she might do, could he? He sighed and closed the book in front of him.

Hearing footsteps, Alistair looked toward the entrance and saw Lis. He lifted a hand in greeting.

She smiled, pulling out the chair across from him, and sat, leaning her arms on the table. "I've been looking for you."

"And you found me. Good timing, too. I can't seem to concentrate on reading today. Save me from boredom."

"I wanted to ask you about something. You know about…blood magic." Lis steepled her fingers, dropping her gaze to her hands. "Avernus said that he sensed something in me, a kind of strength, he called it. He said that I should have been a templar, and that if I had been, he wouldn't have been able to do what he did to me." She looked at Alistair again. There was tension in the tightness around her eyes.

"Did he? That's interesting. I suppose he'd have been talking about, well…, your 'willpower,' for lack of a better word. Your ability to focus your mind and resist intrusion, or manipulation, by magic. I didn't know that it was something that could be sensed—it might just be Avernus. Who can sense it, I mean. He's been doing really appalling magic for hundreds of years. He might be able to do things that other mages can't, even blood mages."

"Can I learn to do whatever he was talking about without being a templar?"

"Well, yes." He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. "Ordinarily, the answer would be no, because no one would teach you. The thing is, I don't know about blood magic because it's an unseemly hobby. I used to be a templar. Becoming a Warden saved me from a life in the Chantry.

"I can teach you the basic exercises, how to strengthen your will…. Possibly more—ways to dispel magic, resist it, and disable mages. Not every warrior can become a templar and it's not a matter of strict piety." He smiled. "If it was, I wouldn't have lasted a year. It sounds like you have the potential for it, though."

Lis looked down at her hands again. "And then I'd be…safe? From blood mages?"

Alistair frowned, wishing he could tell her 'yes,' and relieve her mind, but…. "No one is completely safe from blood magic, unfortunately. There's only one thing I know that can stop some types of spells entirely and that only works when—" He unfolded his arms and straightened. "The Litany!"

"What litany?"

"The Litany of Adralla. It's a spell of sorts that disrupts the casting of mind control spells. That's not something I've seen Avernus do, but we never actually fought him. When it comes down to a battle, it's something he might very well try against us. We should get the Litany before we confront him. You don't have to be a mage to use it."

"And it only works when…what?"

"When it's recited at the moment the blood mage tries to cast a mind control spell. It has to be read at just the right time, or it's useless. It could be an excellent weapon in a fight, though. It saved us when we fought a blood mage in the mages' tower. He was an abomination at the time, but…still a blood mage. Sort of."

Nodding, Lis leaned back in her chair. "That does sound useful. Where do we get it?"

"The original is at the Circle. I used to have a copy that I made, but I don't know what might have happened to it. It was with my things at Arl Eamon's estate in Denerim when I went to the Landsmeet. As to what happened afterwards, well, who knows? It might have ended up on a garbage heap with anything else that didn't seem to have value." Alistair shrugged, hoping he looked more casual about it than he felt.

Lis tapped a finger on the table. "We should go there. After Amaranthine. Someone will surely know what happened to your belongings. And I imagine there are things that you'd like to get back, aren't there?"

"I…yes." Alistair's stomach knotted. For some reason the thought of going there was just…. No, that was stupid—they might really need the Litany. "Okay. After Amaranthine."

He forced a smile. "Why don't we get started with those focus exercises? Just don't tell the Chantry. They'll get really, really mad, and we wouldn't want that. They might call up an Exalted March, just for me. A couple of exalted templars, anyway."

* * *

"It's always a good idea to wear washable headgear around flying dogs. I discovered that at an early age, when I—"

"Alistair! How am I supposed to concentrate when you keep going on about flying dogs and walking around me in circles like that?"

"More easily than you will when some mage is lighting your hair on fire or launching a swarm of evil, killer butterflies at you. Block out my voice. Focus…. No! Don't close your eyes. Eye closing is bad. They'd just give up on magic altogether and stick a knife between your ribs. You need to know where I am and what I'm doing—be ready to respond to anything. Are you ticklish, I wonder?"

Lis glared at Alistair as he circled her rapidly, just out of arm's reach. "Just try it."

"Ah ha! Ticklish it is, then! Good to know. You're not in touch with your will at all now, are you? You're too busy finding me irritating. I know, I'm good at it—it's a skill. You can't let yourself be thrown off, though. This is no different than when an enemy taunts you to lure you into errors in battle, or shoots arrows at tender bits."

Lis lifted an eyebrow.

"Okay, it's a little different than the arrows, but you have to stay calm and focused. Being a templar is all about mental discipline and self-control. It doesn't matter how strong your will if you can only focus when nothing is distracting you."

"Piss and blood!" Lis threw her arms up in the air. "Maybe I just can't do this."

Alistair stopped walking. "You can. You did very well with what we did yesterday—and with draining mana while attacking in melee. If I was depending on mana, I'd be in big trouble right now. This is just the next step, the difference between using a sword against a practice dummy and a sparring partner." He smiled. "One who keeps trying to trip you."

"And is _very_ annoying."

"Be glad you're not training to be a templar in truth. Some of these distractions would hurt." The smile dropped from his face. "Lis, if you're fighting with a sword and a friend falls, your emotion doesn't stop you from coming to their aid, but with this, it can. You have to be able to put feelings aside for later—separate them from the task at hand."

He frowned for a moment, then said, "Let's take a break and work on something a little more fun." Alistair pulled a cloth from the top of a small basket, revealing some withered apples, left over from the fall crop, and placed them in a row on the other side of the room. "I always enjoy smiting a little produce."

He walked back to her and put the basket down. "I won't try to distract you, for now. Just focus, and see if you can smite an apple."

Lis stared at one of the apples. She focused all her attention on it, and then ran through the steps he'd taught her the day before, but not allowed her to use. Her hands clenched with effort. Nothing happened.

"Don't be discouraged." Alistair laid a hand on her shoulder. "I spent many years training before even trying that."

He stepped away from her. "You can use your body to help you focus and direct the power, increasing its force. Watch."

He pulled his arms in across his chest, his face growing still. As he straightened and spread his arms, he was surrounded by a bright circle of light. His face turned upward and the circle of light rose high into the air, expanding until it reached his target, where it contracted into a solid column of breathtaking intensity, crashing down on the apple and reducing it to paste.

Lis found herself staring at him. Templars were far more than the Chantry foot soldiers she'd taken them for.

Alistair laughed and turned to face her. "You should see what happens with pumpkins. That's fun—they really _explode!_" He grinned.

Lis grinned back. There was something very charming about the fact that he could look like some kind of hero out of legend, wielding light as a weapon, but act like a boy dropping eggs off a parapet.

"Try again, Lis. This time use your body to help you instead of tightening up."

She mimicked what he's shown her, concentrating as she pulled her arms in and then releasing the power as she spread them out to her sides. This time a faint circle started to form around her before collapsing. There was still no effect on the apple.

"That was excellent. Did you see the way the light started to take form? You really do have a talent for this." Alistair picked up the basket. "We'll leave that for today."

He crouched down beside the remaining apples, reached out for one, then paused, his hand dropping. "Look, I know you feel a little overwhelmed, and some of this will be out of reach for a while, but if something happens to me…." He reached out again and started putting the apples in the basket.

"There isn't another templar anywhere who'd teach you this. That's why I gave you all the theory at once, while we had the time. I left a lot out, too—years and years worth—but you understand enough in principle that, with practice, you'll be in a better position to protect yourself. I want to cover as much ground as I can, so you can work on it by yourself if need be."

"Nothing is going to happen to you. Why do you think that?"

He stood, basket in hand. "Kallian wants me dead. I don't think you understand just how successful she is at achieving her goals. I'm not saying that she will be in this case, but now that she's Warden-Commander, she has resources at her disposal that she could only dream of before. It's best to assume she might get what she wants, and plan accordingly."

"You're going into this assuming that we'll lose? That's a rotten attitude!"

"Not that we'll lose, just that I might not survive our victory. Big difference. Or I might survive only to have Anora decide that killing me is still her best course of action." He waved a hand. "But that's neither here nor there. I just wanted you to know why I'm pushing you so hard."

Lis scowled at him. "You aren't going to die. I won't let that happen."

"Ah, Couslands! Confidence in all things, at all times…."

"You could do with more of that! You let losing the throne affect you more than it should. By the Maker, Alistair! You found Andraste's sacred ashes! You cleared the mage's tower of abominations! These things are legend across Ferelden. Why do you doubt yourself so?"

Alistair shook his head. "I didn't do those things alone, and believe me—the throne isn't an issue. I didn't even want it, not at first. If Anora had been someone other than who she is…."

He frowned at her. "Don't make me out to be something I'm not. I'm not Calenhad. I'm not even Maric. I'm just a fellow who was in the right place at the wrong time and got in over his head. I've been trying to keep it attached to my body ever since. I'm no hero."

"I don't imagine Calenhad and Maric thought they were, either, but never mind. I'm not trying to make you angry, not after all you've done for me, I just…. Stop thinking like that!"

"Okay. Bright, shiny future it is." He lifted an eyebrow. "Let's try those exercises again, shall we?"


	10. Chapter 10

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page.

* * *

Lis looked different when she focused her will. Alistair could always tell when she was doing that and not just thinking about something. There was a kind of stillness to her that wasn't there the most of the time, or was hidden—a quiet strength. It was probably that strength that allowed her to survive unaided for almost two days after Avernus had drained her with his magic. Someone should make a statue of Andraste that looked the way Lis did now, self-possessed and resolute in the moonlight, noble, in the greater sense of the word.

She was working hard at the templar skills that Alistair had taught her. She'd made clear progress over the last week since leaving Highever, although is would be quite a while before she could use those skills in battle.

Alistair smiled. No one would mistake her for an image of Andraste at other times. Lis was very lively—quick to laugh and to anger, dynamic and opinionated. She wielded no 'sword of mercy' like Andraste. Hers was a sword of 'because I said so.'

He turned away from Lis and looked at Oghren. "How much longer, do you think?"

"She's barely had time to reach the tavern, let alone have a drink and flash her wares to the locals."

"I don't like the idea of Leliana being alone in Amaranthine."

"There's no bounty on her head, duster. She knows what she's doing."

"I know she does, I just—"

"Give her some time."

Alistair stood and paced the small clearing where they'd stopped to wait.

He didn't like this at all. Leliana had been insistent, saying this was the best way to get information, that the people most likely to have information about Avernus, or Kallian, were the ones least likely to stand up publicly and volunteer it. She'd have to get to them. She told him not to even mention Kallian when they got to the tavern.

They were only to walk in and offer a reward for information on Avernus. That, and their presence, would get people talking and give Leliana a way to dig for information without bringing it up herself. They were to stay for a couple of drinks, just in case the reward was enough to get _some_ results, then leave. She'd do the real work.

When Alistair suggested that she take one of them with her, she'd laughed and told him he'd be a terrible spy, and that Oghren or Lis would be even worse. So she was alone. In Kallian's demesne.

He stopped pacing. "We've waited long enough. Let's go." Alistair put on his helm and pushed up the visor so that he could see better. It might be a strange thing to wear in a tavern, but going in wearing a cloak, with its hood pulled up over his face, would look just as peculiar, and impede his movement besides. He'd chosen to wear his old veridium splintmail, as the wondrous armor that Fergus had given him would surely cause comment, but he'd retained the helm with its closeable visor.

"Alistair." Lis stood. "When we get there, I should do the talking."

"Think I'll mess it up?" He smiled to show her that the idea didn't offend him.

"Not at all. We just don't want to give them more reason to pay attention to you than we must—and your helmet fairly screams 'look at this fellow.'"

He nodded. "Fair enough. Lead on, then,"

They made their way through the gates and to the tavern where Leliana waited.

It was shocking to see how much of the city had been destroyed. Most of it had been burnt to the ground, and the buildings that remained, such as the tavern, were almost completely rebuilt or heavily damaged. Almost a year later, soot still clung to walls and the acrid smell of smoke lingered in the air.

There were new buildings, too, but those were hastily built shacks, by and large. This new Amaranthine had more in common with Lothering than the Amaranthine of old.

Alistair wondered if any of the inhabitants had survived, or if the few businesses he saw were those of entrepreneurs moving in to take advantage of demand from the port and the Keep.

Once inside the tavern, Lis stepped forward, surveying the room commandingly. "We seek a dangerous blood mage who may have passed through Amaranthine. He is a bald man, very old, with prominent ears. We offer a reward of three sovereigns to any with useful information."

Raising a hand, she indicated a table as though ordering Alistair and Oghren to be seated, then looked at the barkeep. "Two ales, if you please." She pulled out a chair and took a seat beside them.

Alistair scanned the room, catching a glimpse of Leliana on the upstairs balcony. He had to admit she's been right. No one was rushing forward to claim the reward. In fact, the tavern's occupants seemed to be going out of their way to avoid looking at their table.

Most here were sailors and dockworkers. There were also a few soldiers here from the Vigil, not Wardens, as well as city guards. Their uniforms made that plain.

If none had information, either for reward or the possibility Leliana's favors, it might mean that Kallian hadn't brought Avernus here at all, but had taken him elsewhere. Inconvenient as that might be, it would relieve Alistair's mind. He hated the idea that the Wardens would welcome Avernus.

Not a soul approached them as they drank that first round. Well, as Lis and Oghren did—the helm covered too much of Alistair's face for him to drink without creating a spectacle.

They were midway through their second round before they were approached by a sailor who was very much worse for drink.

"I seen that mage you're looking for. At the docks, boarding a ship for Denerim." The man swayed on his feet, and stuck out a hand for payment.

Alistair looked at Lis and Oghren, his mouth twitching. Oh, this way a reliable source!

Lifting a hand, Lis shook her head. "Not so fast. Describe this mage. Was he alone?"

"He was just as you said. Old and kind of frail like. There was another mage with him. A woman—not much to look at. An average sort with brown hair."

Lis looked at Alistair, her eyebrows raised.

He shrugged. It didn't seem likely, but how were they supposed to know? Leliana had been right. They were terrible spies.

Taking his reward from the pouch she carried, Lis handed it to the man. "My thanks."

As the sailor staggered away from the table, Lis leaned toward Alistair and spoke quietly. "I think we're making ourselves look like fools, giving gold for nothing."

"Probably, but refusing to reward the only person who's offered us anything wouldn't be much of an incentive to others. Besides, we're just here to create gossip, and throwing gold around will certainly do that."

Leliana's voice caught his attention and he looked up to the balcony. She was laughing and trying to extricate herself from the grasp of a soldier from the Keep. Alistair frowned and made a move to rise, but Lis grabbed his arm.

"No. Let her handle it."

"But—"

"Alistair, no. Tonight, you're a spy, not an honorable knight."

"I hate being a spy."

"As do I. Too murky by half, but this is where we find ourselves."

Leliana managed to push the soldier away, bidding him goodnight, and left the tavern.

When the soldier followed, moments later, Alistair rose. "That's it. We're done here."

He left the tavern quickly and looked around for Leliana. Hearing a noise behind the building, he drew his sword and ran toward it, followed by Lis and Oghren.

Leliana was standing over the prone form of the soldier. She looked at his drawn sword and laughed. "Really, Alistair, did you think me incapable of dealing with one amorous soldier? I should be insulted, yes? But instead I shall be charmed by your chivalry, however unnecessary."

"Uh, thanks, I guess. It's not that I didn't think you could deal with him, I just didn't think you should have to." Alistair sheathed his sword. "Is he dead?"

"No, he will wake with a headache and a lesson learned. I would hate to have killed him, for he was useful. He caught a glimpse of Avernus in the hills outside the Keep, with Kallian and some rough looking mercenaries."

"What were they doing, did he know?"

"He didn't hear much. He wasn't close, and wished to get no closer. He did hear something about an underground ruin.

"Hmmm." Alistair frowned. "That doesn't tell us much—we've found a few of those. It's something, though, and it tells us we're in the right place. Let's get back to camp."

They made it through the derelict city and out the gates without problem, and were heading toward the clearing where they'd left their gear when figures appeared out of the darkness to block their path.

"Halt." The foremost figure, a large man in gleaming plate, pointed his sword at Alistair. "We only have business with you. If you care for your friends, send them on their way."

Lis drew her sword. "Like we'd listen."

As he pulled his sword from the sheath on his back once more, Alistair looked around, counting their foes and taking note of their positions. Seven of them, all in plate, so…not pickings from the dock, this time. More like professional bounty seekers.

He gathered his will, much easier now than when he'd first tried after letting his skills go unused for so long, and flung out his arms as he loosed the power he held tight. The night lit brighter than day and a bolt of light knocked the leader to the ground, sending chunks of dirt flying into the air.

Blast. He was still only taking down one at a time, even when not holding back as he had at Highever. Lis wasn't the only one who needed to practice. Just making the rest of the group soil their drawers wasn't what he was going for at all.

Lis rushed past him to bring her sword down on the fallen leader. She swung around to knock her shield into the man beside him, her sword crashing down on the joint in his armor where pauldron met breastplate. She brought her shield up again to knock him to the ground. Pivoting, she swung the pommel of her sword into the face of the leader as he tried to regain his feet, sending him reeling.

Alistair was riveted.

"Wake up, duster! Or are you just going to watch?" Oghren's axe bit into the armor of the duel wielding warrior who'd been sneaking up behind Alistair.

"Sorry. I was just—" Alistair's face burned as he smashed his shield into a fighter who rushed to join the warrior. He was too slow—the man brought his own shield up in time and blocked the blow. Their swords met, the sound of metal on metal ringing out.

"Heh, don't have to explain to me!" Oghren swept his weapon into the back of the warrior's legs, knocking him to his knees. "I was starting to think they gelded you in Orlais." He brought the axe down on the man's neck and turned on a tall man in dragonbone who wielded a two-handed sword.

Driving his sword into the fighter's armor where the crease between breastplate and fauld indicated a weak point, Alistair really hoped Lis couldn't hear them. Especially Oghren. As he wrenched his sword from the man's body, he turned in time to see Oghren's foot slip in blood on the ground.

Oghren stumbled, and the warrior drew back his greatsword in a mighty swing.

Alistair leapt forward, bringing his shield up to block the blow. It came down with enough force to make him stagger, but Oghren was at his side, driving the man back.

Between the two of them, they brought him down, and Alistair looked around to see who of their foes remained.

There were none. Leliana was well on the way to finishing off the last of the attackers when Lis joined her. It was over in seconds.

Lis grinned at Alistair, and then bent forward to wipe her blade on the grass.

Maker, he was still staring at her! Alistair turned away hurriedly to find himself face to face with Oghren—who was grinning.

"Heh heh…."

"Don't say it, Oghren."

"Say what?"

"Whatever disgusting thing you were about to say."

"Just glad you're still with us, boy."

* * *

"So…. Ruins. Off the top of my head I can think of a couple of places. The elven ruin in the Brecilian forest…and the temple in the mountain near Haven, but that one would get Chantry attention." Alistair leaned back on the tree behind him.

Leliana put a log on their small fire. There wasn't enough room in this clearing for anything larger, but the night was warm enough that they'd mostly lit it for the light and comfort. "Kallian knows that Brother Genitivi informed the Chantry of the location of the Urn, although she may not know that an expedition has already been sent. She wouldn't take Avernus there."

"Okay. That's out, then. Where else? There's Ostagar. We found an underground area there, but…." Alistair shook his head, his mouth tightening. "I can't imagine anyone wanting to go there unless they had to. Even someone who can bring themselves to do the kind of things that Kallian doesn't seem to have a problem doing."

"That's only the places you know, though." Lis frowned into the fire. "Kallian could have been talking about somewhere in Amaranthine. I heard they discovered an entrance to the Deep Roads. Wouldn't she want to keep Avernus at a convenient distance?"

Oghren snorted. "I know where that's supposed to be, but what's the point? If the blood mage is in the Deep Roads, we won't have to worry about him for long. The Architect said he could keep most of the darkspawn away from the surface, not make them disappear—and that's if he wasn't lying through his teeth."

"Or she might want him far enough away that she could deny involvement if he was caught by the Chantry." Rubbing his forehead, Alistair let out a sigh. "We can only search the places we know." He dropped his hand. "We'll check out the entrance to the Deep Roads here in Amaranthine, and then our very questionable lead in Denerim. If we don't find anything, we'll go to the elven ruins in the Brecilian forest.

"If he's not in any of those places, we can come back here and try something riskier, like going to the Keep and questioning people who were actually with Kallian during the invasion. But I'd really like to know more about the situation at the Vigil before we do that."

"So we just wander around the country looking for the mage with nothing to go on but gossip?" Oghren shook his head. "How long do you plan on this taking?"

"You have a better idea?"

"Yeah. I say we stop playing around and take this to Kallian."

"We'd be walking right into Kallian's stronghold, surrounded by Wardens she's hand picked for reasons I bet I wouldn't like. And then there are the mercenaries…."

Leliana nodded. "That is true. My informant said Kallian's most recent choices of Wardens have caused Varel, the seneschal, great unease, and they follow her orders without question."

"Well, I think you lost your spine when you started leading, nughumper. We walked into a temple full of dragon worshippers three years ago. You didn't think twice then, but now you've gone all cautious? Or are you just afraid of Kallian?"

"That wasn't my responsibility. This is." Alistair stood, taking a breath before continuing. "Yes, I am afraid of Kallian, and you should be, too. Have you forgotten how she can persuade people to act against their better judgment, the respect she commands? Have you forgotten her abilities? She still has all those, a ruthlessness I'd never imagined, and a private army. I'm not ashamed to acknowledge how dangerous she is, and I'm not going to risk your lives stupidly.

"I'm leaving for the Deep Roads in the morning. Then I'm going to Denerim. Come with me, or don't." Alistair stalked over to his bedroll, lay down on his back and stared up at the sky, trying to rein in his anger.

He hadn't asked to lead, but if he was going to do it, he'd make the choices he thought best, even if Oghren thought that made him a gutless coward. Leliana seemed to understand…. Maker! Did Lis think him craven now? Alistair lifted his head and looked to where she sat across the fire.

Lis gave him a wink and smiled.

Alistair let his head drop back onto his bedroll, reassured that she didn't think less of him. Holy Maker, being a leader was every bit as much fun as he thought it would be.

* * *

"We're wasting our sodding time!" Oghren stomped down the wooden stairs that led to the entrance to the Deep Roads.

"You said a couple of hunters discovered this, Oghren? And no one knew anything about it before that?" Alistair stopped to look at the staircase, and examine a rail. "This has been here for a long while—sturdily built, but starting to decay with age. It's odd, isn't it? I mean, who built it, darkspawn carpenters? That seems a stretch, but if they can make armor for ogres…."

"You're just not getting over the armored ogres, are you, nughumper?"

"No. No, I'm not."

"Perhaps treasure hunters found it." Leliana continued down the stairs. "They might have built the stairs, keeping their find secret, and then been killed by darkspawn. No one would ever know."

Alistair nodded. "Well, for whatever reason this rift was unknown, it's known now, and still unguarded. What's Kallian thinking?"

"Eh, who knows?" Oghren reached the bottom of the stairs, and glanced back at Alistair. "Maybe that her Architect buddy is keeping the darkspawn underground…and she maybe she doesn't give a sodding nug dropping about idiots who might wander down there."

They passed through the long chasm and onto a section of the Deep Roads, its ceiling collapsed and open to the sky. To the right, the road continued with wide stone stairs, dropping deep into the ground, to the left, it narrowed to a dead end.

At the bottom of the stairs, a dwarven city spread out before them. Or rather, some kind of outskirts. On the far side of a vast cavern rose an imposing edifice, likely the city proper, or its entrance, while the structures around then were very small, with triangular doors.

Leliana peered inside of one. "What are these, Oghren? There was nothing like this in Orzammar."

"How should I know? Like you said—this is nothing like Orzammar. If I was to guess, though…. Graves or food storage. Pretty much the same deal."

Her face screwed up with distaste, Leliana looked at him over her shoulder. "Ugh. Very nice, Oghren."

"What? Little air-tight buildings that critters can't get into—what's the difference?"

Lis gave a laugh. "Perception, Oghren. The mental leap from one to another is disquieting."

"Eh, we're just meat. You're kidding yourself if you think any different."

She smiled and glanced at Alistair, shaking her head. "As I said. Disquieting."

He smiled back at her, then lifted his chin, frowning and scanning the area. "There are darkspawn close by."

There was a sound ahead of them like loose stone being dislodged. A creature stepped out from behind one of the small buildings.

It was nothing Alistair had seen before, with features that resembled a decayed human—a fleshless, skeletal nose, eyes set into reddened, corrupt flesh. He could sense the taint more strongly now. It was a darkspawn, but—"

"Why do you come here, Grey Warden?" The words grated from the creature's throat, as though even its voice was as corrupt and tainted as the rest of it.

Alistair stared at the thing. It was one thing to know that such things were said to exist, another to actually hear one speak. What had this Architect done to achieve this? More than just give it Grey Warden blood, that was certain. Just what had Kallian allowed to continue?

The darkspawn spoke again, rasping out the words. "My master and yours have an arrangement. We keep the horde from the surface—you leave us alone."

"She's no master of mine." Maker's breath! He couldn't believe he was talking to a darkspawn. "I'm not bound by her agreements, nor do I believe that she agreed to let you do anything you want."

"Then I have no reason not to kill you." The darkspawn gave a guttural cry and raised an arm. More darkspawn—normal looking ones, both hurlocks and genlocks—rushed from the small buildings behind it, toward them. Others stayed at a distance, raising bows.

Alistair lifted his shield, drew his sword, and started for the talking darkspawn, Lis running beside him.

The ground shook. Alistair heard a savage roar. An ogre. He looked toward the sound. It was running through its smaller brethren to reach them. Maker's blood, it was wearing armor—a helmet through which he could only see its huge jaws, plates of metal covering its chest and limbs, blade-like attachments protruding from the armor on it's arms.

Fire and blight! How was he to fight such a thing?

He and Lis looked at each other at the same moment. Alistair was sure that his eyes were as wide as hers. They changed course to intercept the ogre, shields raised.

The sounds of battle raged around him as Oghren and Leliana fought the talking darkspawn and his lesser minions, but for Alistair, the fight shrunk to this one foe. All his attention was on seeking out weakness that might exist in its armor, and fortunately, there were some.

The armor hadn't been forged for it, fitted to its body, but was cobbled together in a haphazard way, repurposed and reshaped.

Lis tried a smite. It lacked power, but she did it, and in battle, too. Alistair didn't think that would have worked, even if he'd been the one to try. Ogres were resistant to many things that would fell another creature, and this was like no ogre he'd seen before. It wasn't just armored, it was faster, and he'd be willing to bet it was stronger in every way.

She circled around behind the ogre, bringing her sword down repeatedly on some chink she'd found.

The ogre started to turn, raising its massive arm toward her.

Oh, Maker! She was too close! She wouldn't know how they grabbed you, or how much damage that did.

"Oh, no you don't!" Alistair smashed his shield into an armored knee, trying to distract it. If he could keep its attention on him, if Lis could wound it…. "A bit more dying, please!"

Faster than Alistair would have though possible, it kicked Lis away and grabbed him, lifting him into the air, pulling back a huge fist to strike.

Oh, good. Just what he hoped for.

When the blow landed, it was like being dropped off a building. It hit again and his vision dimmed. The sounds of the battle stilled.

Then he really did drop, hitting the ground hard. It took a few moments for him to gather his senses before scrambling away from the ogre's feet. He still couldn't hear. He put a hand to one ear and it came away with blood on it.

Twisting its body, the ogre bent forward. It turned, and Alistair could see that it was trying to get Lis's sword out of its back.

Maybe it pulled away before she could withdraw the blade, or maybe the sword had become lodged in bone, but she was now left trying to retrieve her weapon.

Blast it! She kept getting too close…not that he was in any position to be judgmental, but still…. He really didn't want to see that armored monstrosity crushing her bones, or smashing her in the head.

The ogre's mouth opened wide in a roar that Alistair couldn't hear.

He dropped his shield, grasped the pommel of his sword with both hands and leapt forward, driving the blade between its jaws.

As it fell backward, the ogre took Alistair with it, and he was able to raise his weapon again, sending the point into the ogre's brain.

Climbing off the corpse, gasping for breath, Alistair looked up to see Lis limping toward him. She was all right—well, mostly. He felt a surge of relief. And she had her sword. Good thing, there'd be no turning the ogre over to recover it if she hadn't gotten it in time. He bent to pick up his shield, replacing it on his arm, then looked at Lis again.

Her lips were moving, but he couldn't hear the words. She raised a hand and pointed behind them.

Blast it! Leliana and Oghren! He couldn't hear the sounds of battle, but that didn't mean there weren't any.

He spun, fear knotting his stomach. The armored ogre had taken too long to fight and while he and Lis had been doing that…. Maker only knew what a talking darkspawn could do, and how normal, or not normal, the rest of these might be.

His vision blurred and Alistair blinked, shaking his head. It did nothing to clear his eyes. He'd have to live with it—he could still see enough.

The talking darkspawn lay on the ground in a pool of blood. Many of the other darkspawn were dead, too, but some fought on.

Lis ran to aid Leliana, while Alistair went to Oghren.

As he ran, Alistair assessed their enemies, deciding which to go after first, no easy task since he wasn't just seeing fuzzily, he was seeing in double vision. He closed one eye and looked again.

Oghren fought two hurlocks, one of which had a heavy maul, and the other a two handed sword, while Leliana fought a genlock archer, who had dropped his bow in favor of daggers. A hurlock attacked her from behind, armed with a sword and a small shield. She had an arrow lodged in her thigh.

Raising her sword, Lis went after the darkspawn with the sword and shield.

Another genlock stood off to the side, firing arrows indiscriminately. Alistair's vision wasn't good enough to really see where they were going.

Alistair went after the darkspawn with the maul, first stunning it with a smite, and then knocking it to the ground. He got in two blows while the creature was on its back, but then it was up and swinging the maul.

Blocking with his shield, Alistair staggered back. He was lucky that didn't break his arm.

As the darkspawn drew the maul back to swing again, Alistair swung his blade into its neck, decapitating it.

The darkspawn with the two handed sword was already falling as Alistair turned toward it, Oghren's axe embedded in its head, so Alistair went for the archer, instead.

Lis got there before him.

As the archer drew back the bow string to shoot into Alistair's face—from entirely too close a distance, she yelled something he couldn't hear and rammed into it, shield to the fore, knocking it to the ground. She brought her blade down on its neck, cutting through the leather armor. She swung again, this time cutting its throat.

Alistair grinned at her, nodded a 'thank you,' and then looked for Leliana and Oghren, only to find them watching Lis polish off the last of the darkspawn.

Leliana had broken off part of the arrow so that it wouldn't impede her movement, but left the rest in her leg. There was blood was running from the wound, but it was only a trickle, blocked by the arrow itself.

Oghren had a cut over one eye that probably looked worse than it was, but he was holding onto one arm in a way that made Alistair think that might be pretty bad.

He watched Lis walk over to them and saw that her limp had not abated. Something was wrong there, and it probably had to do with being kicked into a stone building by an ogre.

As for himself, he couldn't hear, his vision was still blurred and double—which made him want to throw up—and he had a truly awful headache. Oh, and there were bruises. Lots of bruises.

They wouldn't make it through another fight. They had to get out fast.

But Leliana couldn't travel with an arrow in her leg.

Opening his pack, Alistair took out elfroot potions for everyone. They weren't the strong kind, but they'd help. Then he took out a poultice for Leliana's leg, motioning her to sit down.

She said something, shaking her head.

Alistair thought that she was probably worried about taking the time, not knowing when they might be attacked again, but he was just as worried that walking with the arrow still in her leg might make things a lot worse. Especially a darkspawn arrow. He just pointed to an ear, shrugged, and motioned again for her to sit.

This time she did. He looked at her as his hands reached for the arrow, his eyebrows rising.

Leliana nodded, her eyes already tight with pain, and Alistair took a breath, steeling himself—he really hated it when he had to do things like this.

Grasping the broken shaft of the arrow, he pulled it out of her leg at the same angle it had gone in. Blood started to flow freely and Alistair pressed the poultice to the wound, grimacing when he saw her draw a sharp breath. He wrapped a bandage around the poultice, tying it off before getting to his feet and reaching down to help her to hers.

After they'd each had one of the potions he'd taken from his pack, Alistair collected the flasks, and put them back inside.

Everyone looked a bit better, and his double vision went away. Things were a little less fuzzy, too. That was good, because he wanted to be well away from this place before they made camp, and they'd need to move quickly.

Raising an arm, he waved toward the staircase to the surface, bringing up the rear on their way out. He was a lot more worried about what was behind them than ahead. He wouldn't hear anything coming, but if someone was going to get jumped by a darkspawn as they left, it was going to be him.

* * *

They didn't talk much when they made camp that night. Well, the others talked a little. Alistair could see their lips moving.

Leliana seemed to be asking people what was wrong with them, and doling out potions and poultices accordingly. She couldn't ask Alistair anything, so she handed him a strong potion to drink, cut a poultice in half, and all but stuffed the pieces in his ears before tying a bandage around his head to hold them in place.

It felt ridiculous, and Alistair knew it looked ridiculous from the broad grin on Lis's face. He was fairly sure that if he could hear, there'd be snickering. He gave her a withering look, but relented and grinned back when the smile dropped from her face.

Even with the potions and poultices, everyone moved like they were sore, and they set up a very minimal camp—a small fire with bedrolls laid out around it. They went to sleep as soon as they'd eaten, with Alistair taking the first watch.

Tomorrow, they'd go to Denerim, if they were recovered enough.

That night, Alistair dreamed of Denerim and it wasn't a nightmare. He dreamed of the dinner he'd shared with Eamon, Riordan, and his companions before the Landsmeet. He had the same trepidation he'd had then, but also the confidence he'd felt, the hope that he might do good things, and he was warmed by the belief that Kallian and Eamon had in him. When he woke, that feeling was washed away by the knowledge of how deluded he'd been, leaving him feeling empty, his hope as cold as the dawn.

Dreams were worse than nightmares, every time.

Alistair's headache had become a dull throbbing, rather than constant pounding. That was a step in the right direction. He was also starting to get his hearing back, or so he discovered once he'd removed the poultices. He could hear what people were saying if they spoke loudly and enunciated well.

Leliana was all for tying poultices to his head again, but that cut out what little hearing he had, so he convinced her to let him try mixing the material from the poultice with water and putting it in his ears. It would be uncomfortable, and he'd have to do it often, but it would let him hear what was being said, or an enemy's approach.

More importantly, he needed to find out how everyone else was doing. Drawing Leliana aside, he asked, "How is everyone? And how's your leg?" It occurred to him that trying to be discreet was probably pointless, since he was likely speaking more loudly than he knew, and Leliana had to practically yell for him to hear her.

"Lis has almost recovered. Her hip was badly bruised, and she wrenched a knee, but she'll be ready to travel by tomorrow."

Leliana's forehead creased with concern. "I'm not certain about Oghren. It's difficult to get a straight answer from him. If I was to take him at his word, I'd tell you that he was ready to fight and travel now, but I don't believe that is the case. There was no obvious break in his arm, so there was no need to set the bones, but…. I'm not sure.

"The wound in my leg heals, but while darkspawn weapons don't spread the taint, they do leave wounds that seem more unclean than those left by others. It will take longer to heal than the same wound from another weapon.

"Also, head injuries such as yours are not to be taken lightly. The effects can linger if they are ignored, and would become worse if you were to be struck again before it is fully healed.

"I think we should wait two or three days before traveling. We are in a remote location and relatively safe—we should be ready to fight before we leave it."

Alistair nodded. "Okay. We'll see how we stand in two days. If we need a third, so be it."

In truth, Alistair wasn't averse to delaying the trip to Denerim. He wasn't looking forward to returning to Eamon's estate even briefly. Denerim alone brought back bad memories, and Eamon's home would be even worse. The contrast between what he'd believed his place in the world to be while there and what it became after the Landsmeet was too marked.

He really wasn't sure that he could forgive Eamon for not speaking up when he was taken away for execution in the way he'd found that he could forgive his friends. Eamon had the respect of the nobility, unlike Alistair's companions. He could have made a difference, and the whole thing was Eamon's idea in the first place.

It made Alistair angry in a way he was having trouble putting aside. In the unlikely event that Eamon was in residence, seeing him would be unpleasant and horribly awkward. Just thinking about it….

No, he was fine with staying here for another two or three days. In fact, they couldn't stay long enough.

When he and Leliana got back to the fire, he looked at Oghren and Lis. "We'll be staying here for a few days, until everyone has recovered."

Lis just nodded, but Oghren gave a snort and said, "So, this wasn't only a waste of time, but it keeps wasting more time. Good plan."

Closing his eyes, Alistair took a breath, and then opened them to look at Oghren. "Yes, Oghren. You told me so." He turned to Lis and Leliana, lifting an eyebrow. "Let's all take a moment to note that Oghren told me so."

Sitting down next to the fire, Alistair said, "Delay or not, we learned some important things. It's not at all likely that Avernus is in the Deep Roads, even with the Blight being over.

"Also, fighting armored ogres is bloody awful. All those darkspawn were stronger than any we've encountered before now, even the ones that looked ordinary. Whatever the Architect is doing, it isn't just making them smarter, and that was bad enough.

"And I don't know about the rest of you, but what I really came away with was the idea that Kallian didn't just make a bad decision about the Architect, she made one that has to be reversed. I'm putting that on my 'to do' list."

Lis's mouth pulled to one side. "I'm not disagreeing with you. In fact, I think you're right, but…don't we have enough 'to do?' When you were fighting the Blight, did you take care of every other problem you came across?"

"Well…yes, actually."

Her eyebrows rose. "Ah. I stand corrected."

"I'm not saying that we should put off dealing with Avernus, or finding out what Kallian is up to, but once I'm done with that—and Anora—I'll be going after the Architect."

"You plan on doing that alone, do you? I think not."

Not knowing what to say to that, Alistair just smiled. He'd love to take Lis with him. He couldn't think of anyone he'd rather brave the Deep Roads with, even Leliana. Lis just had a way of making everything seem…more possible, brighter. He couldn't imagine what Fergus would have to say about that, though.

Besides, who knew where they'd stand by then? Alistair knew better than to count on such things.


	11. Chapter 11

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page. Also, I'm switching post dates to Sunday and Wednesday to try and avoid the end of week rush of posts.

* * *

The port of Denerim dwarfed that of Highever. The harbor was crowded with ships from all over Thedas, and the docks were swarmed with all manner of people—sailors, dockworkers, merchants, whores and thieves, each plying their trade.

Lis ran her hands over her head, brushing loose strands of hair back from her face. "How are we supposed to find out anything here? This is impossible!"

Staggering as two sailors carrying a huge chest pushed by him, Alistair said, "I guess this isn't going to work. Even if we had a picture of Avernus, showing it to just a fraction of these people would take days."

"There are some we could start with." Leliana pointed out several groups of prostitutes who were well positioned to see who was entering and leaving the dock area. "I will speak with them. Alistair, why don't you see if there are templars stationed here? They might have noticed two mages traveling by ship. Oghren, you and Lis could talk to the dock guards."

Alistair nodded. "Okay, sounds like a plan."

They split up and spent the next few hours talking to those whose job it was to observe those on the dock, although templars, guards and prostitutes would certainly be looking for different things.

Alistair found that there was a pair of templars on the docks, checking the comings and goings of mages, and ready to act should any attempt to flee Chantry justice after committing some crime.

He felt a twinge of pity. Mages were truly never free. On the other hand, who was? It wasn't like he'd ever made a decision that wasn't constrained in some way, either by duty or circumstance.

As Alistair approached the templars, they straightened, taking on the professional posture that they'd allowed to relax. The older one tilted his head, looking Alistair up and down, his lips turning up in a slight smile.

Alistair wondered if he'd spilled something on himself, or if some part of his armor was in disarray, but he resisted the urge to check.

They actually remembered the mages—at least the older one did. It was he who spoke. The templars had wanted to know the purpose of the mage's visit to Denerim, and from where they'd come.

The fact that two lone mages would be memorable was a bit of a surprise to Alistair, although he should have guessed that mages didn't travel much.

These were from the Circle and had gone to Amaranthine to collect the remains of a mage whose body had been discovered in the ruins of the Amaranthine Chantry. They were in Denerim to report his death, and collect his phylactery so that it could be destroyed. The templar didn't remember their names.

The younger one was eyeing the older like he shouldn't be talking.

Thanking them, Alistair walked away and looked around the dock. He couldn't see Leliana, Lis or Oghren anywhere in the crowd.

"Alistair? Is that you?"

Alistair turned at the sound of his name. "Wynne?"

"It is! I wondered if these old eyes deceived me. Oh, my dear boy…." Wynne threw her arms around Alistair, hugging him tightly.

He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back, glad that he no longer felt the anger he once had. Wynne had been like a grandmother to him—no, more like a rather shocking older cousin, the way she'd teased him about Kallian, and with her jokes about younger men. She'd never really approved of his relationship with Kallian, suspecting it would end in heartbreak. He should have listened.

After a long moment, Wynne pulled herself away and reached up to take his face between her hands. Tears filled her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Alistair."

Alistair took her hands. "It's okay, Wynne. There was a time when I was angry, but not anymore. There was nothing you could have done without throwing your life away. I see that now."

"Allow me to disagree with you on what constitutes throwing one's life away!" Wynne pulled one of her hands away and dashed the tears from her eyes. "What are you doing here? Clearly you escaped, and Anora lied to us, but are you not in grave danger in Ferelden, especially here in Denerim?"

"Not at the moment. Anora brought me back to be her pet templar, although that arrangement is fraying a little. Wynne...how much do you know about what Kallian's been up to?"

Wynne's eyebrows pulled in tightly, making the lines in her face more pronounced. "Not as much as I wish, I'm afraid. I ran into her briefly in Amaranthine before it fell. I thought she would help those people, not burn them alive! Just imagine!" Wynne shook her head. "We might as well have slaughtered survivors of darkspawn attacks instead of rescuing them, if we were going kill people for just being near the taint. I notice she didn't suggest that everyone in Denerim be killed after the battle, including herself!"

"Burning the city wasn't even the half of it, and she's also taken Avernus under her wing."

"The blood mage? For what reason?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

"By yourself? That doesn't seem wise, Alistair."

"No, Leliana and Oghren are with me—and Elissa Cousland. She has her own dogs in this fight."

Wynne's hand tightened on his. "Alistair…. What Kallian did to you was unimaginable. How are you? Tell me the truth."

"I…." Alistair looked away from her searching gaze. "I had some trouble with it—for a while, but…coming back to Ferelden…. It's been good." His gaze met hers again. "I'm okay, Wynne. Mostly…."

She looked at him intently and then nodded. "I'm glad."

"I don't suppose you can join us? We could really use you by our side."

"I'd join you in a heartbeat, dear boy, but I cannot. I've just returned from Tevinter and am expected back at the Circle immediately. I won't bore you with the details, but I simply have no choice in the matter."

Alistair frowned. Was she being forced to return against her will? Was she not well? "Is everything all right? Can I help somehow?"

"I'm fine. I was merely called back from my research in Tevinter to lend a hand in a matter of Circle politics. Nothing very dire, I don't think. Certainly nothing like the chaos Uldred created when he tried to align the Circle with Loghain, and I don't expect it to take all that long. If you still need my help in a couple of months, let me know." She reached up to pat his face. "I'd love to help you in any way I can. You know that, don't you?"

"I do, Wynne." He smiled at her. "And for help or not, I'll come see you as soon as I can."

She smiled back. "I'll hold you to that. And now…." Wynne tipped her head toward the templars who were watching them. "I must tell the armored gentlemen that I have returned and see if they might arrange transportation to the tower."

"You can't stay long enough to say hello to Leliana and Oghren? I know they'd like to see you."

Wynne shook her head. "No, I must be on my way. I'm late in returning as it is."

"Then I'll escort you." Alistair put his arm through hers and walked back toward the templars.

When they reached them, Wynne said, "I've just returned from Tevinter. My name is—"

"Wynne." The older of the two templars smiled. "I know. I would have recognized you even if the First Enchanter hadn't asked that we keep an eye out for you. I was at the tower that day, so I know who _both_ of you are."

The templar looked at Alistair and his smile widened. "You don't think I speak that freely to just anyone, do you?"

He looked back to Wynne. "Transportation has already been arranged. You can start back as soon as we collect your things, if you like."

"That is very kind of you, Ser…?"

"Maynard. Ser Maynard. It's my pleasure."

Alistair bent to give Wynne a kiss on the cheek. "Stay safe, Wynne. I hope I'll see you soon."

"So do I, Alistair. Very much."

As Alistair walked into the crowd to search for his companions, he heard the younger templar say, "Who was that?"

Ser Maynard lowered his voice to reply. "That was Alistair Theirin, you dolt. The Warden who was once one of us and who saved the tower. Maric's son who was almost your king." Even more quietly, he muttered, "Should have been, blast them."

Alistair shook his head. Anora would just love that. He caught a glimpse of Leliana and pushed his way toward her. She'd be sorry to have missed Wynne, but at least they knew Avernus wasn't in Denerim.

* * *

Lis felt like she was missing some vital piece of information. She was getting that feeling a lot lately. There was something no one was talking about. Maybe more than one something.

As they walked into the market district, Alistair's steps slowed. The others looked at him—Leliana with concern knitting her brow, Oghren with ill-concealed impatience, but neither said anything. Neither told him to hurry up, or said anything that would give Lis a clue.

Arl Eamon had backed Alistair for king, opposing Loghain, she knew that. She also knew that Alistair hadn't coveted the crown. In fact, he seemed remarkably unsure of himself as a leader, given his skills and experience. Had Eamon pushed him to make a claim for the throne? That didn't seem like enough to make Alistair this reluctant to approach his estate. "Alistair, I think the arl will be at Redcliffe. He's rarely in town. Will that matter?"

Alistair shook his head. "I don't think so. The servants…knew me well."

So, he wasn't bothered by the possibility of seeing Arl Eamon. Or wasn't _only_ bothered by that. That thing about the servants knowing him well—what was that hesitation?

Andraste's fat ass! Lis hated not knowing what was going on, and this seemed like it might be something pretty important.

When the estate, Alistair went to the main door and knocked. There was no answer. "Oh, well, too bad—let's go!" He turned and started for the gate.

Oghren shook his head. "Not a chance, nughumper." He knocked again, pounding on the door with his fist.

After a few minutes, one of the smaller side doors opened and a middle-aged man looked out. "Oh, I thought I heard someone out here. The arl isn't…. Wait, you're…Maker preserve me! Ser! I…I just don't know what to…come in, come in!

The man ushered them into a foyer. "What can I do for you, ser?"

"I…left some things here. I was wondering…. Do you know what happened to them?"

"Why, everything is still in your room, ser. The arl gave strict instructions. We didn't know what to think about that, but I guess he knew…uh. Sorry, ser. Not my business. Would you like me to take you there, or—"

"That's all right. I remember the way. Thank you." Alistair was completely silent while leading them through the castle, his jaw clenched tight. He stopped at a room on the second floor, and opened the door.

If it had been any other room, Lis would have assumed that the occupant had just stepped out for a moment. As it was, what she found in the spotless room was more than a little disturbing, especially knowing that Eamon must have thought Alistair dead.

A used wine goblet still sat on the nightstand next to a glass flagon, its contents now dried and ringing the bottom. The flagon must have been filled recently. It was full and free of sediment.

Two armor stands stood on the far side of the room, one empty, and one holding a fine set of silverite plate, well polished and oiled. It had been colored green in some way, so it looked more like veridium, but Lis could tell the difference. Something about the luster of the metal spoke of silverite, a far stronger metal.

A pack lay beside the empty stand, still holding its contents.

A shield leaned against a side table on which lay a sword and a dagger, arranged as if for display.

Leliana let out a breath. "It's like walking into the past."

Picking up the goblet, Alistair held it in front of him, turning it between his fingers. He still said nothing.

When they first met, Lis had teased Alistair with being easy to read. That certainly wasn't the case now. She had no idea what he might be thinking and this felt like the stillness before a storm.

He put the goblet down, took the shield off his back, and handed it to Leliana. Crossing the room, he picked up the shield that leaned against the table, ran a hand across the Grey Warden insignia emblazoned on it, and put it on his back. Then he picked up the weapons on the table, slinging them over one shoulder. He gave Lis a quick glance. "Take the plate if you want it."

Lis did, very much. It was beautiful. And she wanted to thank him for it, but everything in his bearing demanded silence—to be left entirely alone, so she said nothing as she crossed to the stand and took the armor.

Alistair picked the pack up from the floor and put it on the bed, then reached inside, sifting through the content. Eventually, he pulled out a scroll, which he handed to Lis. He reached inside again and pulled out an amulet. He stared at it for a long time before putting it around his neck and tucking it into his armor.

After putting the pack back on the floor, he looked at them. "Let's go."

The man who'd let them in was waiting by the main entrance. "Did you find everything you needed, ser?"

"Yes. Thank you for…looking after my things." Alistair held out what looked like a couple of sovereigns. "Tell Eamon I'm alive."

"Tell him you're…? But he…didn't he…uh…." The man blinked then gave his head a little shake, taking the offered coin. "Thank you, ser. I'll do that."

Alistair nodded, opened the door, walked out, and kept walking until he was through the courtyard and half way across the market district. He stopped near the Chantry, his gaze fixed on a new building beside the open air market. "Does anyone need to buy anything while we're here?"

"No." Lis shook her head. She had a feeling that the sooner they were away from Denerim, the better. She looked at Leliana, who also shook her head, and Oghren, who didn't.

"Yeah, I need to pick up a couple of things."

Lis frowned at him, but Oghren just grinned.

"I'll only be a minute or two. The ladies can wait until the next time ol' Oghren gets to town."

It was more than a minute or two, but Alistair didn't seem to mind. He just stared at the building, about which there was nothing remarkable at all.

When Oghren returned, he had an extra pack and looked very pleased with himself. "Okay, let's get going."

They were heading for the Brecilian Forest within the hour, traveling in silence, as they had been since leaving Arl Eamon's estate. Lis thought she might not be the only one who felt the need to walk on eggshells, but at least the others knew why.

Given that it was already afternoon, Lis didn't expect that they'd get far before making camp, but at least they were out of Denerim, perhaps closing in on Avernus, and with the Litany in hand.

As much she wanted to find Avernus, to make him pay for what he'd done to her and others, there was a queasy feeling in her stomach. The helpless feeling she'd had in that pit, that tainted…thing beside her, had made her blood pound with a fear that was worse than anything she'd felt in battle, even when younger and untried.

Lis looked at Alistair, who was walking well ahead of them, head down as if in deep thought, his shoulders hunched. She was very glad he had full command of the templar skills she was only beginning to grasp, and that she wasn't doing this alone. His presence reassured her, making her belief that they weren't handing themselves to the blood mage on a platter, which this would have felt like without him. Not that she would have let that stop her—Avernus would die, one way or another—but still….

She pictured him bringing the holy smite against the leader of the group that had attacked them after leaving Amaranthine. He'd been holding back when teaching her, that was certain. It had been a glorious thing to behold, and so mesmerizing that she'd had to take herself in hand so as not to waste the opportunity that he'd given her to attack unhindered.

It was a sad thing that Kallian had deprived him of the throne—even had his birth not made him the rightful heir in Lis's eyes. He would have made a wonderful king—just, honorable and brave. All that might have hindered him were qualms about his ability to lead, which she thought completely unwarranted. Lis found herself admiring him more with each day of their journey, baffled by his doubts, and charmed by his ready humor and kindness.

The Maker must surely intend more for such a man.

Turning to Leliana, who walked by her side, Lis spoke in a low voice. "What troubles Alistair?"

Leliana opened her mouth to speak, then shook her head. "These are things for Alistair to speak of, and not mine to share. You should ask him, and I hope that you will do so, for it would do him good to talk, I am certain. He holds tight to bitterness and disappointment in a way that does not come naturally to him. I'd hoped that he left such feelings behind with his exile, but that does not seem to be the case, although he's seemed happier of late."

There was more to it than that, Lis thought. Disappointment didn't give a man nightmares that could be heard through thin tent walls—not every night, true, but more often than would indicate a peaceful mind. If he was happy now….

"Eh, the duster's always gotten broody from time to time. All you surfacers are broody. Comes from being so tall—the air's thin up there. He just needs to relax a little. Too much chasing our tails, not enough good food and drink."

Oghren patted the pack he'd brought from Denerim. "Tonight, we set up a proper camp and fix that before this gets worse. I'm not of a mind to travel with that nughumper through another round of Orlais level broody. He gets real snotty. This silent treatment's just the wind up."

"You think Alistair's problems can be solved with food and drink?" Lis's eyebrows rose.

"And a willing woman. That part's up to you." Oghren gave her a wink.

"I'm not going to…foist myself on Alistair as part of some plan to cheer him up!"

"Too bad. A little foisting never hurt anyone. Heh heh…."

Lis looked away, feeling a blush heating her face, only to realize that she was staring at Alistair as he walked in front of her. Oh, Maker! She'd only known him for two weeks and this was where her mind led her? True, it was two weeks spent in constant company and in ways that showed his character and mettle more than any number of society functions, but…_two weeks!_ No wonder she had trouble marshalling a templar's powers. She had no self discipline at all.

Her eyes dropped and she walked a long way watching nothing but the ground before her feet, and trying to control her unruly thoughts.

* * *

They traveled south through the foothills west of Dragon's Peak. A broad path had been formed by travelers who wished to cut time from a journey to Gwaren, avoiding the longer route of the Imperial Highway to follow the rivers through the forest to reach the city by way of the Brecilian passage.

Darkness forced them to stop for the night shortly after reaching the outskirts of the forest and Leliana told Alistair that Oghren had picked up the makings of a fine dinner, obviously hoping to lighten his mood.

He looked pleased, but then Lis didn't think she'd ever seen Alistair less than pleased with the prospect of eating, no matter what his frame of mind.

Alistair and Leliana set up the tents, while Lis and Oghren collected enough firewood to last the night.

Once enough wood had been collected, Oghren opened the pack and brought out a number of good cuts of meat that had been marinated in wine and herbs, bottles of wine and ale, and small honeyed cakes that Leliana seemed to recognize, for she clapped her hands together and gave a little squeal of delight, saying they had been a favorite when she lived in Orlais. They just looked like regular cakes to Lis, which was all well and good. She liked cake.

It promised to be a fine meal, and was surprisingly thoughtful of Oghren. A pleasant evening of relaxation, although a relative thing at the edge of this wild forest, would be a very welcome thing. Lis found herself thinking that there was perhaps more to the dwarf than met the eye—or the ear.

Alistair seemed to be making an effort to pull his thoughts away from where they'd lingered. He joined them at the fire as dinner was prepared and eaten, smiled in response to jests, and listened to conversation, although he said little. Lis missed his quips and wild stories, and found herself trying to fill the void, volunteering anecdotes from her childhood.

After they'd finished eating, Leliana took out her lute and played. She seemed to be composing a song, stopping every so often to change something, then starting from the beginning again. The quality of playing was good enough that even this was soothing, while it might have been less so from an inferior musician.

Leaning back against a tree, a bottle of wine in hand, Oghren looked well satisfied with their evening. Lis gave him a smile, and he lifted his bottle in salute.

She looked over to Alistair, who was sitting a few feet away, sharpening his shaving knife with an oilstone. This was as good a time as any to speak with him.

Lis ignored a flutter of nerves, grabbed a couple of bottles of ale, and went to sit beside him.

Alistair reached out for the bottles, cut the wax seals holding the corks in place with the knife, and held one out to her.

"That can't be good for the edge." She took the bottle, smiling.

He waggled the oilstone, and went back to sharpening the blade. "I'm not done yet—and it's hard to feel too concerned about a shaving cut when people keep waving swords around."

"Not to mention axes."

"And maces—or mauls. Brrr…mauls. They just _ruin_ the lines of a well-designed suit of armor. It's hard to look good with big dents everywhere. We fought a darkspawn forge master who had a very nasty maul."

Lis watched him run the stone along the blade, trying to think of a way to ask him about what had been troubling him without seeming to be pointlessly intrusive. She was more than a little tempted to just let it go, since he was speaking now, but what Oghren and Leliana had said about him and his time in Orlais worried her. "Alistair…. About today... Sometimes I feel like…. Well, that everyone else knows things I don't."

He stopped sharpening, the stone resting on the blade, but didn't look up. His mouth pulled to one side. "I suppose that would feel…awkward." Alistair started sharpening again. "I'm not trying to keep any secrets. Not really—and not about Eamon. I don't really know what to say, though, because I don't know what to think, but I can give you the basic facts, I suppose."

Putting the stone and knife aside, he picked up his ale and looked at her. "You know that Maric was my father, and that I'm a bastard, but you probably don't know that my mother was a servant at Eamon's castle in Redcliffe. Eamon took me in after she died giving birth to me—put a roof over my head. He didn't have to do that, and I was grateful. He was kind to me."

Alistair gave a reluctant smile. "He took me to The Wonders of Thedas once. He knew I liked magic things. I don't know how—it's not like we talked much. He bought me a golem doll." The smile widened. "I loved that golem."

He turned away, his gaze on the fire, and took a sip of his ale "It was made very clear that, while I was Maric's son, I was a commoner, and not in line for the throne at all. There were to be no rebellions under any circumstances—that was mentioned specifically. Cailan was the only heir.

"I was more than fine with that, I had no ambition to rule. Of course, I was a child, and much more inclined to covet rule of the pantry." He glanced at her. "At the time, I couldn't figure out why Eamon went on about it. I mean, what child wants to rule Ferelden?" An eyebrow rose. "Oh, wait. Anora probably did. Never mind." He turned back to the fire.

"Those lectures stopped when I was sent off to the Chantry at around ten. I guess no one thought it was necessary, since once the Chantry has you, that's it. There's no leaving.

"That's where I'd be now if Duncan hadn't conscripted me into the Grey Wardens. I was more than willing to join, but conscription was the only way that the Grand Cleric would release me. No one has the right to refuse conscription, so…that's what happened.

"Being a Grey Warden…it was the only time in my life that I've ever felt like I belonged." He looked at her, a frown creasing his face. "You probably have a hard time understanding that, given what Kallian is doing, but it was different when Duncan was the Warden-Commander. It really was.

"We knew we might have to do unpleasant things to defeat the Blight, but there were limits. Trafficking with darkspawn, letting a blood mage do the kind of things Avernus does…. Duncan wouldn't have stood for that. I'm certain he wouldn't have."

Alistair frowned and dropped his gaze. He shook his head. "It's all a little murkier than I thought or like—Kallian, Weisshaupt, Avernus…but a Warden can do more for the world than any king." He looked at Lis, the lines around his eyes, and creasing his brow, cast into relief by the light of the fire "I thought being a Grey Warden was the greatest honor I could ever be given. I still believe that. Mostly."

He shrugged. "Anyway, now you're all caught up."

None of that really explained his reaction. Everything he said raised more questions—and part of Lis's mind was still back on the 'not really' part of his comment on not keeping secrets, so she just asked the most obvious question. "Why did the arl send you away? It seems like a cruel thing to do to a child."

"He married a young woman from Orlais—Isolde." His eyebrows rose. "You seem to know something of her, given what you said about her intelligence back at Soldier's Keep. I'll be a gentleman and not comment on that.

"She resented me, and made no attempt to hide it. I can't blame her, really. There were rumors that Eamon was my father. I expect she thought they were true, or at least wondered. I think my presence made her uncomfortable. She made sure that Redcliffe stopped feeling like any kind of a home. It was probably unpleasant for everyone.

"Eventually, Eamon sent me to the Chantry. He tried to visit me, but…I was furious. I hated it there and blamed him for my unhappiness. Eventually, he stopped coming."

Alistair set down his bottle of ale and tugged on the cord of the amulet he'd put around his neck at Eamon's estate to pull it out from beneath his armor. He held it up for Lis to see. "This was my mother's. When Eamon told me I was being sent away, I was so angry I threw it at a wall, shattering it. We…Kallian found it at Redcliffe when we were fighting a demon there. It was in the arl's study—he'd kept it. He must have pieced it back together. I don't know why. I thought I did, but…." Alistair shook his head.

"The arl must have cared about you, Alistair. Otherwise, why would he have bothered?"

Tucking the amulet away again, Alistair said. "That's what I thought, but—"

"The golem doll…. If you never talked, that means that he must have asked after you and paid enough attention to know that you would appreciate a trip to The Wonders of Thedas."

"Maybe. Maybe not. After seeing the amulet, how carefully it was mended, I meant to talk to him about…everything, but then there was the civil war and the Blight to deal with. Things moved quickly and there was no time for such conversation.

"The arl felt that we needed a stronger candidate for the throne than Anora—a Theirin to unite the nobility." He looked at Lis, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "That was me. Lucky, lucky me, the last Theirin. Worked out well, didn't it?"

He turned away and picked up his ale, his gaze dropping to the ground.

Maker! What a mess. Lis frowned. "So…Eamon took you in when your mother died—even though it caused a scandal—then sent you away to a place you hated. He told you repeatedly that you could never be king, and then put you forward as king. He engaged in civil war to remove Loghain from the regency and depose Anora in favor or a ruler of Theirin blood, then let you be taken for execution—"

Alistair lifted a finger. "Without making any objection. Not even a half-hearted 'Really? Isn't that a tad excessive?'"

"And after all that, he left your room intact, like some kind of shrine to your memory."

"Yes, that sums it up pretty well." Alistair stared at the fire and took a sip of his ale. "The only question is whether that was a shrine to me, or to the last of the Theirins. Either way, I can't figure out whether to be furious, rather touched, or just write it off as kind of creepy."

"How about all those things? That works for me." She took a drink.

Alistair turned his head toward her, a smile on his face. "Okay. 'All' it is, then."

They drank in silence for a moment then Lis said, "There's one aspect to this that you may not have thought about, and I don't know whether is makes things worse, or better…."

Lifting his eyebrows, Alistair said, "Spit it out. You can't just leave that dangling there."

"Well…. You'd been at the Chantry for a long time by the time Maric died, hadn't you? He was still alive when you were sent?"

"Yes…" He tilted his head. "You're thinking that Maric played some part in all this? I doubt it. He never showed the slightest interest in me, or acknowledged that I was his son. I never even met the man, just saw him at a distance."

"Alistair…. You're looking at it like 'Alistair, the commoner,' not 'Alistair, the son of a king.' No king can afford to completely ignore his offspring, even illegitimate ones. He could well have had a hand in shaping your life, giving instructions to Eamon in secret."

Alistair frowned "So…Eamon never wanted to take me in? Maric ordered him to do it?"

Uh oh. That wasn't where Lis wanted this to go. "Or asked him to as a friend, because he wanted you to be safe—but that might also mean that Eamon never have wanted to send you away, either."

"Why would Maric want me sent to the Chantry, of all places? I wasn't a particularly pious child. More mud puddles, frogs and skinned knees than bowed head and prayer."

"Eamon knew that you had an interest in magic. He might have passed that on to Maric."

"So Maric decided that sending me off to kill mages would be an excellent idea?" He smiled at her, one eyebrow high.

Liz laughed. "No, that wasn't my thought. More like you might be comfortable dealing with the mages of the Circle—and that what the templars do is very close to magic. It might not have been intended as the punishment for irritating a selfish young woman that it felt like. And the Chantry was the only place you could have been given a gentleman's education without raising eyebrows. They might have thought you'd like that. Did you?"

Alistair was quiet for a moment, then said, "I did, actually. I wasn't much for the religious contemplation part of things, but I did enjoy the education. I liked the templar training, too, if not all the ways it's put into practice."

"It let you be trained in knightly arms, as well, in a way that a servant's son wouldn't be."

"True. But why would that matter?"

"Other than the fact that it suited you well in many ways? More than being a footman would have?

Alistair smiled. "Point taken—I would have been a terrible footman, but yes, other than that."

"Um…." Lis took a sip of her ale and thought. Why would Maric want his unacknowledged illegitimate son, the son of a servant, to be educated and trained as a gentleman? What benefit could there be in that?

An idea came to her, maybe farfetched, but…. "Perhaps it was also intended to…protect you."

"Protect me? From what?" Alistair shot her a dubious look.

Lis raised a hand "Hear me out. Maric had only two sons. Cailan might not have survived to take the throne. Illness, accident—even assassination. The nobility would never have accepted a footman as king, even one with royal blood, but an ex-templar? That would be different. A king might be able get the Chantry to release you, if need be, and if there was no need, you would have been kept out of the political fray.

"Cailan might have thought the same once he took the throne. He had no heir at all, although he probably thought he had time for that. Not a bad idea to have you as a spare."

Alistair stared at her, a stunned expression on his face. "But…. No, I was always told…." He looked away, rubbing his forehead. "That can't be true." Eyes narrowing, his hand dropped, and he frowned. "The Grand Cleric didn't want to let Duncan conscript me. She was furious—absolutely beside herself. I always wondered why. It's not like I was any great loss to the templars….

It occurred to Lis that Alistair's conscription might also have been part of the plan, but she decided not to mention the possibility. Something about the way Alistair spoke of Duncan made her think that he wouldn't relish the idea and it changed nothing.

"Maker!" Alistair stood and ran a hand through his hair. "Duncan said that Cailan ordered that Kallian and I light the signal fire at Ostagar, the one that was supposed to bring Loghain's forces into the battle. If things had gone according to plan, it would have kept me out of the battle entirely. I thought Duncan just wanted to keep me out of it because I was Maric's son, but what if…." He stopped and faced her. "Did Cailan intend me to become king—if he was killed at Ostagar? Why wouldn't he have told someone? Or written it down? We found his papers…."

"Maybe he didn't have time. Or maybe, in those last hours before the battle, he came face to face with his own mortality, and made a last minute contingency plan. There's no way to know, Alistair, but it makes a certain sense."

"Andraste's flaming sword!" Alistair sat down and rubbed his hands over his face. "Holy Maker…."

"I didn't make you feel better, did I?"

He dropped his hands "'Better' is the wrong word. 'Shocked' works. Also 'astounded.' Let's throw some 'incredulous' in for good measure. Maker's _blood!_"

Alistair sat in silence for a few minutes, and then looked at her, his brow furrowed. "There's one big problem with this scenario. Templars are addicted to lyrium. Maric wouldn't have wanted that in an heir, even one that was a last resort."

"What?" Lis's eyes widened. "So you're…addicted?"

Shaking his head, Alistair said, "No. I was never addicted because I never took my vows. It's part of the ritual. Once the vows are taken, it's given to templars regularly to increase their power—or so the Chantry says. I haven't noticed the need for it, and I haven't fought any templars whose power was noticeably stronger than mine, either. I think it's just how the Chantry controls their army. By controlling the lyrium trade, they control access to lyrium, and so control their templars."

"That's despicable!"

"Yes, and they think it's perfectly justified. Of course, the mage's Circle puts demons in apprentices and has the templars kill the ones who can't resist. That's arguably worse, although at least they have more legitimate reason for it."

Alistair bowed his head, rapping his forehead with the top of his fist. "Ugh. I'm spilling everyone's beans tonight. A little alcohol, a little world-changing shock to the system, and I'm a complete blabbermouth. Pretend you didn't hear any of that, all right?"

"My lips are sealed." Lis gave him a cuff on the shoulder. "Except when I'm talking to you.

"You realize that Maric probably didn't know about the lyrium—given that it's a secret—and wouldn't the Chantry just love to have that kind of control over an heir to the throne? They must have been very upset when Duncan took you away before they could turn you into a pious, obedient templar, if that was the plan." She snickered and poked him with a finger. "They couldn't, right? I'm not seeing any signs of it."

Alistair grinned. "No, sadly, their hopes were dashed on that front. I was good at doing what a templar does, but very bad at _being_ a templar. That's why I hadn't taken my vows by the time Duncan recruited me. Too much levity, not enough undying devotion to the Chantry. Not that I don't believe in the Maker…."

Lis took another drink of her ale, then said, "I'm just trying to fit all the pieces together. Maybe this happened, or some of it. Maybe it didn't—and maybe Eamon didn't know about anything but what he was asked to do—if he was asked to do anything at all. I'm just suggesting that he might not have had as many choices as you think he did."

The grin dropped from Alistair's face. "I know one choice he had—not to stand by silently when Anora had me hauled off for execution." He paused, and then shook his head. "No. That's not fair. I have to be realistic. It was more important to end the civil war and unite the country to fight the Blight than to keep me alive. I know that. I do." Alistair looked toward the fire, quiet again.

He glanced at her, just long enough for her to see the tightness around his eyes before he looked away. "It's hard to _feel_ that, though."

"From the state of your room at his estate, I'd guess Arl Eamon has the same problem."

Alistair stared at her. "I…guess you might be right." He picked up his knife and oilstone, and stood, head bowed. "I need to walk for a bit."

"Do you want company?"

He shook his head. "No, I just…. No." He raised his head to meet her gaze. "Lis…. This is a bit of a shock. To say the least. But it was good to talk."

"Any time, Alistair. I mean that."

Giving her a small, quick smile, Alistair started to leave.

"Alistair?"

He turned back. "Yes?"

"When you say you aren't keeping any secrets, 'not really'…that means you are, but you don't want to talk about it, doesn't it?"

He looked at Lis for a while, his expression unreadable, and then said, "Yes. But I'd tell you if it made a difference to anything. It doesn't. I don't think it ever did."

"That's okay. You don't have to tell me."

"I just…. I kind of like it that you don't know what a _total_ fool I am."

"I'd never think that, Alistair."

His eyebrows rose "Oh, I think you would." Alistair nodded his head. "Yes…you would." Lifting a hand, he turned away and disappeared between the trees.

Lis took a good long swallow of her ale, hoping there was another one in the pack. Whatever _that_ was about, she'd bet it was worse than anything with Eamon, and that was bad enough. Andraste's blood, maybe she should think a little before letting every little thing that entered her head come out her mouth!


	12. Chapter 12

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page. I want to take a moment to thanks all the people who are reading 'Remnants' and say how exiting I find it to know that there are people all over the world enjoying the story. Hope you like this chapter, too!

* * *

Alistair dragged himself from his bedroll just as the sun started to rise. He'd been awake for most of the night thinking about what Lis had said. He found it hard to believe, but it explained things he'd never been able to explain and, apparently, he wasn't the best judge of what people might think was a good idea.

It would never have occurred to him that Loghain would leave Cailan—or Duncan and the rest of the Grey Wardens—to die. He wouldn't have thought it possible that Rendon Howe would slaughter the Cousland family in their beds. He absolutely would never have imagined that Kallian could tell him that she loved him, share a bed with him, and then agree to his death—a couple of those things on the same day.

So…maybe Maric had sent him to the Chantry to be warehoused as a spare heir, maybe Cailan had sent him to the Tower of Ishal to rule in the event of his death, and maybe Eamon regretted everything.

It all made Alistair want to slam his head into a tree trunk repeatedly.

He stirred the coals remaining from the fire the night before, added some small sticks, and blew on them until flames rose. After throwing a couple of larger pieces of wood on the fire, he picked up a pot and walked to a near by creek to fill it.

Did it really make any difference why he went to the Chantry, or why the Grand Cleric didn't want him to leave? Did it matter what Cailan intended?

Alistair crouched down beside the creek and let the rushing water fill it, then set it aside and splashed water on his face.

Did it really matter why Eamon had pieced together the amulet, or why he'd remained silent? Well, yes. Those things mattered more to him than the intrigues of kings.

He carried the pot back to camp, setting it down on hot coals, and next to the newly rising flame. Alistair sat down by the fire, feeling the early morning chill.

Even though they'd set up their small tents the night before, he'd slept outside. Alistair liked to see the stars, especially when he didn't think he'd sleep easily.

Alistair glanced at Lis's tent. She was very easy to talk to. And just as easy to look at.

She made everything seem less…dire, somehow. He'd come close to telling Lis about Kallian. Very close. In the end, he hadn't been able to make himself do it.

He'd pictured her face on hearing that he'd once loved a woman who could leave her to die at Avernus's hands. He could have told her that he hadn't seen what Kallian was capable of, that he'd only seen her beauty, intelligence and quick wit. He could have told her that while they hadn't seen eye to eye on some things, arguing fiercely, he'd believed Kallian to be a good, trustworthy person. But that would have only shown him to be the complete fool he was—naive and easily manipulated.

Reaching into a pouch, Alistair pulled out some qunari tea leaves and threw them in the pot. He moved the pot away from the fire.

It took constant effort to remind himself that people often lied more frequently than they changed their shirts—that plotting and backstabbing was as common to farmers as kings.

Alone in Orlais, dwelling on everything that had happened, it had been easy to believe that everyone was a backbiting schemer. Here, surrounded as he was by people whose behavior flew in the face of that, it was different. He'd judged his friends too harshly, he could see that now. What could they really have done for him? Nothing but get themselves killed.

Whatever reasons Eamon had for his actions, however Alistair felt about them, they were rooted in duty, not greed or a desire for power, he was certain.

Fergus had risked the wrath of a queen to do what he thought was right, both for Alistair and the elves.

Who was the exception—Fergus or Loghain? Eamon or Howe? Lis or Kallian?

Lis…. Alistair smiled. He couldn't imagine Lis hiding her feelings in any way, either for intrigue or manipulation. She'd tell you what she wanted straight out, then exactly why you were going to do it. She and Kallian were about as different as two women could be.

Kallian was small, lithe and intensely feminine. Deceptively so, for it made her opponents underestimate her speed and ferocity. She had refined features and very red hair that hung softly around her face. She was graceful and composed, exuding an air of calm competence.

Looking back, Alistair wondered if maybe that had been an act, too. Sometimes Alistair just hadn't understood her reasoning, and when he'd questioned her about it, she'd been anything but calm. He'd always thought that they'd managed to find common ground. Now he thought that was just what she'd let him believe.

It was strange. When Alistair first met Kallian, he'd thought her the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. But as he remembered her, she didn't seem so anymore. Too much mystery, not enough honest liveliness. These days mystery seemed pretty much the same as hiding a nasty side.

Lis was tall and strong—beautiful in a way that was very different than Kallian's delicate loveliness. Her features underscored her determination in all things. She strode through life daring the world to try her patience and ready to administer just deserts to anything that goaded her so.

Alistair grinned at the thought. And she'd look good doing it. Oghren had been out of line with the comments he'd made back at Soldier's Peak, but he wasn't wrong. Very sonsy indeed—

"Good morning, Alistair."

"Lis! Uh, hi!" Alistair took a breath and reminded himself that Lis couldn't know that he'd been thinking about her figure. At least, she wouldn't if he stopped staring at her chest. Maker's breath! He was turning into Oghren.

Alistair looked down at the pot. "Good morning, I…um… qunari tea?"

"Qunari?" She sat down beside him.

"Well, I don't know if it's theirs, or comes from a land they conquered, but it's different than the herbs we drink." Alistair dipped a cup into the pot, trying to avoid the leaves, and handed it to her. "We traveled with a qunari while raising armies against the Blight. He missed it, so when I saw some in a market in Orlais, I bought it. It's sort of bitter, but it wakes you up. I like it."

Lis took a cautious sip. "It's not horrible…."

Smiling, Alistair filled a cup for himself. "If that's your first reaction, you'll probably come to love it. Unfortunately, it's very hard to find."

"Alistair, last night…I hope I didn't…offend."

"Offend?" He tried to think of what she might be talking about…oh. Probably what she'd asked before he left, about secrets. When he'd almost told her about Kallian. "No, you didn't offend me at all. Not in any way."

She let out a breath. "Good. I can be a little…. Tact isn't my strong suit."

"I've traveled with Oghren and a qunari, Lis—at the same time! And they were nothing compared to Morrigan. She was an apostate, and a bitch of the first order. Morrigan went out of her way to be offensive. To me, anyway. We didn't like each other much. Actually, we hated each other. I'm completely inured to lapses in tact. Not that you lapsed—because you didn't."

"I probably will—just so you know."

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "I live in fear." He drank his tea, his mind going back to his earlier thoughts—before he'd been distracted. "Lis…. Do you think everyone is out for themselves?"

She looked at him over the rim of her cup then lowered it and said, "This isn't the first time you've said something like that. I think you mentioned it was said to you, but you'd taken it to have a different meaning than intended."

"Okay, now I really do live in fear. If you're going to remember everything I say, I'm going to have to be a lot more clever."

"What did you take it to mean?"

"I thought it meant that I needed to look out for myself more, for my own happiness, and not be so easily led to ignore those things."

"That would have been fine advice. But…that's not what was meant, right? It was meant to mean that people only care about themselves?"

Alistair nodded. "I think so."

"I don't believe that." Lis held her cup out to Alistair. "I could let Howe's betrayal of my family make me think that, but I won't."

He filled her cup and handed it back. "Why?"

"Because I'd rather live my life expecting goodness and honor. I might be disappointed, I might be horrified and shocked, but at least I live in a world where decency is normal behavior, not treachery."

His gaze dropping to his cup, Alistair said, "What if that's false hope?"

"There will always be good people and bad ones. Why let the bad ones control your view of the world?"

"There's that, I suppose." Alistair lifted an eyebrow. "It's a bit like letting them kick you once they've pushed you into a manure pile."

Lis lifted her cup. "Exactly!"

Brushing her hair back from a tired face, Leliana approached them. "Is that…? Alistair! You have qunari tea! And you've been hoarding it!"

Alistair dipped a cup in the tea and held it out to Leliana. "I have, and I don't feel the least bit guilty about it. It's not like I can just go buy more."

Leliana held the steaming cup up to her face and inhaled. "Mmmm…." She took a sip and sat down beside Lis. "I can't remember the last time I had this." She looked up from her tea. "So, we should reach the ruin today, should we not?

"I think so. We'll reach the site where the Dalish were camped even if we don't make it to the ruin." Alistair stood. "I'll wake Oghren and start packing up. You two finish the tea."

"You couldn't make me do otherwise, Alistair." Leliana closed her eyes and took another sip. "Not for all the gold in Ferelden."

Lis shook her head. "I think I'm awake enough. Any more of this tea and I'll be dancing through the forest. I'll help—but you can wake Oghren, Alistair. He won't try and convince you to join him."

* * *

"This is where the Dalish were camped, is it not?" Leliana looked around her. "Yes, the halla pens are still up. It's interesting that they speak of the halla as companions rather than chattel, yet are comfortable penning them."

Alistair looked up at the position of the sun, visible in this large clearing in a way that it wasn't through much of the dense forest. "Would you like to camp here, or move on? We still have a few hours of light. If we keep going, we'll probably end up camping outside the ruins."

Shifting his pack, Oghren said, "No idea, duster. I've never been here before, remember? It's all wet and full of trees. No problems the last two nights. What difference does it make?"

"This isn't a very normal forest, Oghren. There are some peculiar creatures in it, even without the Blight. The veil is thin here, and it gets worse as you move away from the outskirts. That first night we weren't really in the forest, and we're in more danger now than we were last night.

Leliana nodded. "The elven storyteller, Sarel, said it was because of all the loss of life in wars between the Imperium and the elves, but I wonder if the Tevinter mages might not have used magic unwisely here."

Oghren snorted. "Is there anywhere on the surface where some mosslicker hasn't used magic unwisely? Can't be any more dangerous than the Deep Roads. Let's keep going."

They continued on the path leading toward the eastern part of the forest. It was more overgrown now, and at one point, Alistair took a wrong turn, leading them into an area he didn't recognize. "Uh oh…. That last fork…I think we should've gone the other way."

His question was drowned out by an uncanny roar. The trees in front of them swayed with no wind to move their branches, pulling their roots up out of the ground. One bent its branches to the ground, sending sharp wooden spikes up through the soil between Alistair and Oghren.

"By the tits of my ancestors! " Oghren took his axe in hand. "That thing is firewood."

Lis pulled her sword from her back, her eyes wide, and readied her shield. She dove forward, hacking at the trunk of the nearest sylvan.

Alistair ran forward to join her, chopping at a branch swinging toward Lis, while Oghren and Leliana attacked the second. These were large, sturdy sylvans and bringing them down was a slow process, knocking away a piece at a time until they fell.

He was distracted by a cry of pain and turned to see Leliana imprisoned by an outcropping of spikes, one impaling her arm.

The next thing he knew, he was flying into the undergrowth, hit by a branch that must have been as thick as his leg. Alistair lay on the ground, stunned for a moment, before pulling himself off the ground. At least he hadn't dropped his sword.

He looked for Leliana. She was free, but blood was running down an arm that hung limply at her side, dripping from her finger tips. The sylvan kicked back with its roots, sending her into the air. She landed hard and stayed where she was, dazed.

"Blasted walking tinder!" Oghren's axe bit deep into the trunk. "You're gonna get yours!"

Alistair swung his sword into the bark on the other side of the trunk, as though he was chopping wood "I hate fighting trees. This part takes _forever_."

"Not with me here." Oghren swung again, chipping out a large wedge from the trunk. The sylvan fell to one side and stopped moving. "One down, one to go." He turned to the second sylvan that Lis was battling. "Bring it on, termite-bait!"

Oghren let out a bellow of victory, and the sylvan crashed to the ground.

Going to Leliana, Alistair slipped his pack off, and pulled out an elfroot poultice.

She had picked herself up and was trying to twist her arm around to get a look at the wound, wincing.

"Here, let me" He turned her arm gently and looked at the wound. It was an ugly puncture wound, going well into muscle, bleeding steadily, but still small enough that a poultice should improve it greatly by morning. Thank the Maker for elfroot! "There's no wood in there and it's pretty clean." He wrapped the poultice around her arm. "There."

"Thank you, Alistair." Leliana let out a breath. "It feels better already. That was not pleasant."

"Do you want to stop here?"

"No, we know nothing of this part of the forest. We should at least go back to the main path."

Alistair nodded and stood, shrugging his pack onto his shoulders. "Okay, then."

Lis looked at Alistair, her eyebrows high on a furrowed brow that was still beaded with sweat from the exertions of battle. "Those were trees. _Trees_."

"That happens here sometimes."

"Oh, well as long as it's _normal_. No problem, then!" She shook her head. "Are there a lot of those?"

"More than you'd think."

"Oh, joy." Lis sheathed her weapon.

"Eh, it was just a couple of noisy trees. Nothing to get your knickers in a twist about." Oghren leered at her. "'Course, I can always help you get 'em straightened out."

Alistair frowned at him.

"What? I can't be helpful?

Turning to Lis, Alistair said, "Sylvans are nothing compared to golems."

"Now you're just pulling my leg."

"No, really—"

"Golems. Walking trees." Lis gave him a sideways glance.

"I think I dislike giant spiders the most." Leliana gave a shudder. "They aren't very dangerous or hard to kill, but they make the most horrible crunching noise when they attack. It's quite disgusting."

Lis raised a hand. "Giant spiders, mythical warriors, belligerent trees…." She curled her fingers and dropped her hand. "Okay. Fine now. Just needed a moment."

"But you were okay with animated skeletons?" Alistair smiled. "I was the same way when I found out about armored ogres. I don't know which bothered me more, that ogres can take care of armor, or that someone built it for them."

Shaking his head, Oghren said, "I didn't say they take good care of it, just that they wear it. It's not like they didn't dress themselves before."

"Thank the Maker for small mercies!" Alistair gave an exaggerated shudder. "I can't think of anything more unnerving than naked ogres. It's terrifying, really. Come on, let's head back."

They backtracked until they reached the fork where they thought they'd gone wrong and went the other direction. Things started to look familiar.

Leliana bent down to pick a flower. "Oh, I remember this place! The waterfall should be just ahead."

She was right. Moments later, they reached the spot where three paths converged, each ending in a bridge leading to a small island that lay between them. Beside one of the small bridges was a waterfall that sent fine spray into the air, wetting the bridge and drifting across the island.

"Oh, how beautiful!" Lis went out on to the bridge, raising her hands into the spray and lifting her face to watch the water cascading down from above.

Alistair smiled, enjoying the way her pleasure lit her face as brightly as the sun lit the spray from the surging water.

"You always did like this spot, Alistair. Little did I know that you bring all the girls here. That cheapens it, don't you think?"

Maker's blood! Kallian. Alistair turned to see her standing on the bridge they'd just crossed, her arms folded across her chest, her lips curled.

As he looked at her face, he felt sick with the sudden collision of past and present, remembering his admiration and love at the same time as his pain at her betrayal—and the things she'd allowed Avernus to do, not only to Lis, but to who knew how many others. His stomach turned.

He wanted to answer her taunt with a smooth comment of his own. He couldn't. His mind was empty but for the one question he'd wanted to ask for every moment of the years since the Landsmeet—_why?_

"Nothing to say, Alistair? No witty bit of nonsense to avoid things that should be said? No clever line to get away from the truth? I didn't expect an apology, but I expected _something_."

"Apology?" His lip curled. Alistair crossed his arms, trying to control the growing anger that heated the back of his neck and made his heart beat faster. "Andraste's flaming sword! You want an apology? From me? For what?"

Kallian shook her head. "You really are as stupid as Morrigan believed, aren't you? You humiliated me at the Landsmeet. Don't pretend otherwise. You questioned my judgment, raised your voice, argued when everyone knew I was the leader of our party, not you. You did just as you did with every decision I made. You always questioned me. You undermined my leadership, shaming me in front of our companions.

"I ignored it as long as I could, made excuses for you—'I'm new to leadership, give him some time to learn to trust,' 'he's idealistic, he doesn't understand that what ever it takes is a literal truth, not a suggestion.' You even questioned my decision to make Bhelen king in Orzammar—a decision that couldn't possibly matter to you, and then refused to meet with him. Do you have any idea how offensive he found that, or how much more difficult it made my task? No, of course you don't, because you only ever think of what _you_ want, and what _you_ believe.

"By the time we got to the Landsmeet, I could excuse you no more." Her eyebrows pulled down into a deep frown and her lips twisted. "You're a bigot like every other shem. An elven woman is good enough to bed, but not to lead. You never trusted me. You had something to say about every decision I made!"

A bigot? Kallian thought he was a _bigot?_ Alistair stared at her, wondering if she'd understood anything about him—or if he'd ever really known anything about her. All that time together and she couldn't tell that he'd respected her all the more for what she'd gone through, the strength she'd shown?

She thought having a different opinion was the same as contempt? Andraste's blood! She thought he'd share a bed with someone he thought was—

Kallian stepped closed to Alistair. "I let you influence me. I loved you, so I wasted time with nonsense to please you. I turned down those who would have given us more power because they didn't meet your small-minded definition of 'good.' I took unnecessary chances. All for you. And for that you betrayed me at the Landsmeet."

"Are you _completely_ insane?" Alistair flung out his arms, his eyebrows rising. "Of course I had things to say about decisions! Of course I argued if I thought you were making a mistake! I said that you should lead—I didn't toss my brain on a garbage heap."

Blood pounded in his ears. His anger became the same burning rage that he'd taken with him to the Free marches, as hot and corrosive now as it had been when unfamiliar and raw. "By the Maker! You say I betrayed you? You spared _Loghain_—a traitor who killed Duncan and the rest of the Grey Wardens! Who named us outlaws and had us hunted across Ferelden. Who killed Cailan, the king he had sworn to serve—the son of his closest friend! You gave him the greatest honor I know, to join the Wardens, and fight the archdemon."

His hands clenched, shaking. "All those months of traveling together, everything that was said between us—about Duncan, about how I felt about being a Warden, that they were the family I'd never had—you ignored it all! You _had_ to know how I would feel! You tossed aside everything I said about making Loghain pay for what he'd done! Making Anora queen and agreeing to kill me was less of a betrayal, although you certainly gave no hint that you had _that _planned."

She moved closer—close enough now that he could reach out and wrap his hands around her throat as he'd done to the poor whore in Starkhaven when he'd thought her Kallian while near mad with drink and anger.

Maker's blood. Alistair took a deep breath. Kallian took his heart. She took his life—even if she hadn't managed to end it. That was all she'd take. He forced his hands open, unclenching tight fists.

Kallian pointed at him, throwing her hand toward him. "I didn't toss it aside—I made him pay in way that made use of him." She dropped her hand, lips twisting. "Being a Grey Warden isn't an _honor_, it's a death sentence. You're just too simple to realize it! And you speak of honor? You were going to leave me to fight the archdemon alone! You say Loghain was a traitor for abandoning the king? Then how are you less of one? Telling Anora to kill you was a fitting punishment for your desertion.

"If you thought killing the archdemon was such an honor, why were you going to leave? For all your talk of Duncan and the Grey Wardens, for all your talk of _honor_ and _duty_, you were going to walk away from everything. Instead of honoring Duncan by carrying out his wishes, you ignored them and abandoned his cause because you couldn't get what you wanted. You might as well have spat on his corpse. You didn't just betray me, you betrayed your beloved Grey Wardens."

Alistair's breath caught. Oh, Maker. That hurt. Andraste have mercy, he would have left. He couldn't have stayed—he would have ended up killing Loghain, there was no doubt. Sharing a camp, fighting side by side…. Alistair knew himself well enough to know that would have been impossible. Didn't Kallian know him enough to realize that? Didn't she realize that she'd forced him to leave?

His anger fading, Alistair shook his head. This was worse than if she hadn't cared. Worse than anything Alistair had imagined on those nights he'd tried to figure out why she'd done it. "I wasn't walking away from anything, Kallian. You pushed me out. You chose Loghain over me—you had to know I couldn't even share a camp with him, let alone fight with him. We already had one more Warden than we'd hoped to have, Riordan, but you decided that having another was more important than a justice that didn't add honor to Loghain's name, more important than everything we'd meant to each other.

"Not only that, the Warden you wanted to make was a man who hired an assassin to kill us. He had Eamon poisoned, and whether he knew that Howe planned to kill the Couslands or not, he certainly made no move to punish him. The opposite, in fact. Loghain made him the Arl of Denerim, and gave him free rein to torture any who might oppose him. Loghain sold your own people as slaves! In spite of all this, you expected me to go into battle with him at my side. You made a mockery of everything I held dear and wanted me to watch. No. Never. You drove me away."

Leaning toward him, eyes narrowed, Kallian bit out her words. "Loghain was useful. More useful than either of us knew at the time. If you'd really loved me, you would have trusted me, you would have stayed. You claimed love, but your love was shallow, judgmental and pathetic. What you call love is no such thing.

"If you'd _loved_ me, you would have stood up to the Landsmeet and their prejudice. You would have committed to our future instead of telling me that you didn't know what being king would mean for us. How stupid did you think me, Alistair? You're a coward and a bigot. And you planned to leave me to _die_."

Alistair's hand sliced through the air. "The fact that you could even say that shows how little you know me. Sparing Loghain, and thinking I would accept it, shows how little you ever did." His arm dropped to his side. "This is pointless, Kallian. It's not too late to give up this path. You're aiding Avernus in the worst kind of blood magic. Tell us where he is. Stop all of this now, before it's too late."

"You may have humiliated me in front of the nobles, Alistair, but you showed yourself to be weak, as you did every time you argued with me." Kallian shook her head. "As you do now. A weak, short-sighted, narrow minded Chantry fool. You don't think ahead. You can't change with circumstance. You _still_ can't see how valuable Avernus is to the Wardens. To all of Thedas." Kallian's lips twisted. "Avernus's research is more valuable than you are capable of grasping. Far more valuable than you. You could never have made the kind of decisions that a king has to make. You would have made this country as weak as you are—and I had to make sure you never tried to do it again. I still do."

Her gaze shifted and she looked behind Alistair, into the trees. "Now!"

Alistair reached for his sword, but a shimmering wall of gold light surrounded him, freezing him in place, fingers touching the hilt, but unable to move. Andraste's mercy. His heart sunk as he realized that not only had he walked into a trap, he'd led his friends into one, too.


	13. Chapter 13

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page.

I'm posting this a day early since I'll be working late tomorrow. The usual post days are still the new days of Sunday and Wednesday.

* * *

When Lis saw Alistair reach for his sword, she should have drawn hers. She should have been paying attention, watching for a signal.

But she wasn't.

She wasn't paying attention—she was sifting through all the little things that hadn't made sense and suddenly did, in the worst possible way. She was trying to come up with something in her own life that would have been as crushing a betrayal as what Kallian did to Alistair. The thing she came up with was so unimaginable, so appalling that it boggled her mind, and that was if Fergus had sided with Howe and tried to have her killed.

It was different, of course. Fergus was her brother, and it was a different kind of bond. But it was plain that Alistair had considered the Grey Wardens as a kind of family, bound by duty and circumstance rather than blood, and Kallian had been a part of that.

And she'd been Alistair's lover.

Lis was thinking about that, too.

It wouldn't have mattered, though. Alistair's hand had barely left his side when a spell froze them all in place. The same spell that Avernus had used on her when he'd almost killed her with blood magic.

As light surrounded them, the spell freezing them in place, Lis went from shock to recrimination in what would have been the blink of an eye, if she could even do that. They'd all stood there letting Kallian distract them while her trap was just waiting to be sprung.

Alistair was the only one of them who had an excuse. All that time, not knowing, wondering how she could have done it…. But he, more than anyone, should have known. They all should have known.

Andraste's ass, they must be the stupidest people in Thedas.

She heard footsteps on the bridge behind her, and saw movement on the other from the corner of her eye. It was an ambush after all, with each of the three exits blocked, and they were helpless for as long as this spell lasted. Fighting its hold, she tried to move without success. Her heart pounded, close to panic. She couldn't move, she couldn't fight, she couldn't help anyone—not Alistair, not herself. They were absolutely helpless and at the mercy of Kallian and a blood mage, people who had no mercy at all.

Kallian drew her sword and walked up to Alistair. "I could have done this before you even knew I was here. I wanted to make sure you knew exactly why you were dying, but I'd forgotten how angry you can make me."

She reached up to stroke Alistair's face. "Why couldn't you have been the man I thought you were? Why couldn't you have trusted that I knew best?" She rose up on her toes and kissed him, a slow lingering kiss on his still lips. "I loved you, Alistair, but you threw that away and I know you won't stop interfering. You never do. You brought this on yourself, you know. This time, I have to make sure you die. I can't let you stop me. It's too important."

Stepping back, Kallian turned to Leliana and Oghren, no hint of emotion on her face, no sorrow, no regret. "I give you this one chance to stop working against me because we fought the archdemon together. You were loyal then. Consider this a warning and an example. Your deaths won't be merciful. No swift cutting of the throat. Follow me, interfere again—carry tales back to the queen or elsewhere—and this will be your end."

Kallian raised her sword, working the tip under the left pauldron of Alistair's armor, then lifting it to pry the metal upward. The clearing was silent but for the sound of metal against bending metal.

As she strained to free herself, Lis knew in her heart that it wasn't possible, but fought, nonetheless. Every muscle tightened in hopeless effort. She hadn't saved her parents, she hadn't saved Oriana or Oren—she hadn't even been able to warn Fergus of Howe's treachery. Once again, she could do _nothing_. What good was she? What good had she ever really done?

Oh, Maker, what Alistair must be feeling…. Lis could feel hot tears running down her face.

Moving her blade so it was pointing downward, and standing on tip toe to do it, Kallian thrust the sword through the gap she had created in Alistair's armor, through his chest and deeper into his body, a grunt of effort coming from her lips. She pulled the bloody sword part way out, adjusted its position, and thrust downward again, driving it deeper.

Paralyzed as he was, Alistair made no sound, no movement. He was still as a statue. Only the blood that covered the blade gave testament to the fact that it was a living man Kallian impaled so viciously, twisting the sword before pulling it out a final time.

She walked away from Alistair and raised her sword to Lis's throat, his blood dripping from it. "I don't know who you are, and I don't care. You survived Avernus, and I'll allow you to survive this, but act against me, speak of this…." She moved the blade, making a cut on Lis's neck. "You see what I'll do. Don't force my hand."

"Avernus, Velanna, come." Kallian walked to the other side of the island and out of Lis's view.

For agonizing minutes, what felt like an eternity, the spell continued to hold them fast. Lis knew that if Alistair wasn't already dead, only held upright by the force that held all their bodies motionless, he must be close to it. She prayed to the Maker, and to Andraste, for a miracle—that Alistair would somehow survive this cruelest of deaths.

The spell dropped, and Alistair collapsed to the ground, limp and unmoving.

Lis was struggling so hard to move that she staggered when released, propelled forward by straining muscles. Running to Alistair's side, she fell to her knees. She was dimly aware of Leliana kneeling beside her, and Oghren's hand on her shoulder as he said something, but all her attention was fixed on Alistair.

He was still alive. His eyes locked on Lis, and he tried to speak, but coughed, blood gushing from his mouth.

"Oh, Maker. Hold on, Alistair. Please, just hold on." She ripped the pack from her back, pulled it open and searched frantically for a health potion, and a poultice for the wound.

Leliana grabbed her arm, shaking her head when Lis looked up, tears in her eyes. Leaning closer, she whispered. "You must say good bye, Lis. Now, while you have the chance."

"No! We have to try! He can't…. We have to do something—we have to. I won't just give up!" Lis looked at Alistair. He was staring at her. His lips were tinged with blue. No—it couldn't end like this…. She choked back a sob and leaned forward to pick up his hand. "Alistair—"

His hand tightened on hers, and his lips twitched as though he was trying to speak, but then he let out a gasp, his head rolling to the side, his eyes empty and sightless.

The sob that she'd forced back escaped. Tears that had filled her eyes ran down her cheeks, unheeded. They clouded her vision, blurring his face and the pattern of light sifting down through the leafy canopy across him.

She could have stopped this from happening. If only she'd known Avernus was there—if only she'd realized what he was doing…. She could have used the cleansing aura that Alistair had taught her. He'd still be alive. Why was she always too late? Why couldn't she ever—

That light….

There was something strange about the way it moved.

Lis wiped her hand across her eyes. It wasn't sunlight shining through leaves, it was some thing else. It swirled around Alistair, growing brighter.

Alistair's head jerked and he gasped for air, his eyes wide.

There was a crashing sound in the forest—a tall mage, blond haired and out of breath, burst through the trees.

Leliana and Oghren had their weapons out before Lis could even get to her feet.

The mage lifted his hands. "Don't kill me. I'm saving your friend. We'll talk later." Raising his staff, the mage moved a hand and an aura of blue light rose around Alistair, a shimmering wave unlike the magic that had woken him from death.

Alistair's breathing eased, and the blue tint that touched his skin faded.

The mage gestured again and Alistair's eyes closed. "There. He'll sleep for a while, far better than being awake until I can heal him more." He lowered his staff. "I'm a bit drained at the moment."

Glancing toward them, he said, "Your friend is lucky I was nearby. Once the soul has left the body, there's no bringing it back. I had to revive him before I reached you, which made for a bit of a rush to get him healed. A little healed, anyway. He's not very well stuck together right now. If he'd died again, I wouldn't have been able to revive him a second time."

"Who are you?" Lis stared at the mage, struck by the idea that her prayers had been answered in a most unlikely way.

Bowing slightly, the mage said, "You may call me Anders. More than that will have to wait—unless you happen to have a nice stock of lyrium, by chance?"

"No, unless…." She looked at Leliana, who shook her head.

"Ah…that's a shame. I must be off, then—time matters. But first, let's get your friend out of that armor." He crouched down beside Alistair, motioning for their help. "By the time we're done, I'll be able to cast another healing spell, and you can get a poultice on that wound." He paused. "You _do_ have poultices, don't you? Maybe some potions?"

Lis nodded. "Yes."

"Good. You're going to need them. He'll probably feel reasonably well tonight, considering the circumstances, but without more healing while I'm gone, that won't last. Of course, this isn't the kind of thing that can be healed by elfroot alone, which is why I have to hurry. The sooner I'm back, the better."

As they removed Alistair's armor, Leliana tucked a bedroll under him as they shifted his position. "Thank you for your help, Anders. I am Leliana, and my friends are Lis and Oghren."

"And who is the unfortunate fellow whose insides Kallian stirred with a sharp stick?"

"He is Alistair."

Anders sat back on his heels, and looked at Leliana. "Alistair…. This wouldn't be Alistair, the Warden who survived Ostagar, would it? Alistair, the man who was almost king?"

Leliana nodded.

An eyebrow arched upward. "How very unexpected. I could have sworn he was dead. Prior to today, I mean."

Anders turned back to the armor and helped Lis remove Alistair's cuirass. "It would seem that Kallian had more secrets than her alliance with the blood mage. That looked very much like the end result of the world's worst breakup." He looked at Leliana as he handed her the separated breast and back plates. "Am I wrong?"

Lips tightening, Leliana's eyebrows pulled low.

"I didn't think so. Ah, love…. It's all fun and games until someone gets dismembered."

"Where were you that you could see all, but not reach us more quickly?" Leliana's eyes narrowed.

"Suspicious, dear lady? There is no need, I assure you." He waved a hand toward a small hill on the far side of the waterfall, then went back to helping Lis remove Alistair's greaves, leaving him clad only in the padded gambeson and pants that he wore under his armor. "I was over there. In a very large tree. And if you find it unlikely that it would have taken me the time it did to reach you, you have clearly never climbed a tree in a robe."

Anders looked at Lis. "We're moving him right now because we have to, but don't let him move once I've gone. Don't let him get up. Not until I get back with the lyrium and heal him more permanently."

Frowning, Lis said, "If he is so poorly healed, did we not do him harm in removing his armor?"

"Yes, but if you're going to keep him alive until I get back, it's necessary. Give him potions every few hours and change the poultice a couple of times a day. That will keep things going in the right direction.

"A _day?_" Lis's eyebrows rose. "How long will you be gone?"

"About four days. I left a stockpile of lyrium with a friend near Denerim. I think there's enough there. If not, I may have to go into Denerim, but I know a spell that will let me travel more quickly than normal. There's a physical cost, but this is just the sort of situation that's worth it. I won't stop unless I have to. Without the lyrium, I can't heal him properly. It would be weeks before he could even stand, if he survived at all. This way, he'll be fit for battle almost immediately after I return. And given how much Kallian seems to dislike him, he probably needs to be."

Oghren scanned the forest around them. "We should go somewhere else while we can. Kallian might come back."

"I guess that depends on how much you like your friend."

"We just moved him, mage, and you said you could fix that." Oghren scowled at Anders.

"Fix the damage from making him sit up, not the kind of damage we'd cause dragging him through the forest. I'm good, but there are limits. If it makes you feel better, I saw Kallian and her mages heading north."

Lis stood. "We're not moving. We're not doing anything that might make this worse." She glared at Oghren for a moment, then looked at Anders. "We'll be here when you get back. I don't care if I have to kill everything that moves for a league in each direction."

"That's the spirit!" Anders rose to his feet, lifted his staff, and the air around Alistair rippled with light once more. "Off to Denerim, then. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Frowning, Lis looked from Alistair's sleeping form to Anders. "It's almost dusk. If you get killed traveling the forest at night, you'll do Alistair no good. You should wait until morning."

"I'm touched by your concern for my wellbeing, but I'm well used to journeying under the cover of darkness. See you later!" Anders gave a wave and ran back the way they'd come, toward the old Dalish camp.

Lis stared at Leliana and Oghren for a moment, suddenly at a loss.

Leliana took her arm. "Sit. One of us should stay with Alistair. Oghren and I will use one of the tents to block the spray from the waterfall, and make camp.

Sinking to the ground beside Alistair, Lis reached out for her pack, dragging it and the elfroot poultices it contained closer.

Should she remove his padded gambeson? It was soaked with blood around the wide rip made by Kallian's sword…. No. She's have to cut it to pieces to remove it without moving him, and he wouldn't thank her for destroying the only gambeson he seemed to have, forcing him to wear plate without under-padding. And he _would_ need it, he _would _wear his armor again.

Besides, bloody or not, he'd be warmer wearing the gambeson than covered only with a blanket. It would grow cold quickly once the sun had set

Carefully lifting the cloth away from the ugly wound, she could see that it was no longer bleeding and was beginning to close.

Lis took an elfroot poultice from her pack and tried to place it on the wound. The task was made more difficult by trembling fingers and blinked to clear vision that blurred anew. Taking a deep breath, she clenched her fingers tight then released them, willing them still, and smoothed down the edges of the poultice.

Dragging a hand across her eyes, Lis looked at his still form.

Best to wait until the blood on his gambeson dried before buttoning it again, but damp mist from the waterfall was still drifting across the island as Leliana and Oghren struggled to create a barricade. Pulling out her blanket, she spread it over him, drawing it up over his chest.

She covered her face with hands that were shaking more, not less, and let out a long breath. "Thank you, Maker. Thank you, Andraste."

* * *

The island was a cramped place to camp, and they'd lost some room by creating a wall of sorts with one of the tents to keep the damp mist from the falls from drifting over them. There was just enough room to lay out their bedrolls and build a fire.

Oghren and Leliana were on the far side of the bridges keeping watch. If Kallian was going to return, it would be tonight.

It made sense to be on guard, but Lis didn't think she would return. Kallian's parting words had a kind of finality to them, and she certainly believed Alistair to be dead. If Anders had not arrived when he did, Alistair would be as dead as the rest of the Wardens who'd been at Ostagar.

Maker's blood. How could Kallian talk of love and do something like that?

The way Alistair had spoken of things said between them, of her having to know how he'd felt…Kallian's love must have been returned. There was hurt under his rage. Oh, Alistair…. Lis felt a sharp pang of sorrow for him.

She wished he would wake up. She needed to hear his voice.

This was what Alistair was hiding—he and Kallian had been lovers. This was what he thought would condemn him as a fool in Lis's eyes. Kallian's betrayal had been more brutal than Lis ever imagined.

And he'd never known why she'd done it—not until today. Alistair had seemed furious. He'd been mostly turned away from Lis, so she could only see part of his face, but the way he bit off his words, the cutting edge to his tone—this was something new to her. She'd seen hints of his temper unleashed, but nothing like the way he'd spoken to Kallian.

Rightly so, as far as Lis was concerned. Piss and damnation, the woman was a cold bitch. She confused men and dogs. Kallian expected to snap her fingers and get silent, unthinking obedience.

Lis understood Kallian. Not how she could bring herself to do the things she did, but why. She wanted what she wanted without argument and didn't care who got hurt by it. At least not enough to stop. What she hadn't understood was the part where Kallian had said that being a Grey Warden was a death sentence. What did that mean?

She looked at Alistair, his face lit by the flickering light of the fire, again feeling the horror and helplessness she'd felt as Kallian had driven her sword into his body. Pulling her legs up to her chest—arms wrapped tightly around them—Lis bowed her head.

The sick feeling in her stomach wasn't going away, any more than her failure. Her eyes filled, and she wiped the tears away with the heels of her hands.

"Lis…." Her name came out a rough whisper. Alistair cleared his throat. "Are you all right?"

"Alistair! You're awake—thank the Maker!"

"Yes, awake…and alive. I'm sure I wasn't. What happened?"

"A mage came running out of the forest and revived you. Well, he revived you, then came running out of the forest. At first, I didn't know what was happening. You were…like you were, but there was a pattern of light, and then you were alive. He healed you as much as he could and went to get lyrium so he can do a better job."

Alistair's eyebrows rose. "That's…fortunate. Weirdly so, don't you think?"

"He said he'd explain when he got back."

"That should be interesting." He pulled a hand from under his blanket, wincing, and brought it up to the wound on his chest. "Maker, I'd forgotten how unnerving that is."

Lis frowned and tilted her head.

"Dying. It's…unpleasant."

"You've died? Before today? Alistair…." Lis stared at him, the sick feeling in her stomach becoming a cold knot.

"It was Morrigan's mother. That's not as pathetic as it sounds—she was a dragon at the time. Big teeth, huge claws, that sort of thing."

"Don't joke about this! There's nothing funny about it!" Lis put a hand on the ground and leaned toward him.

"I'm sorry. You just looked so…. I wanted to make you smile."

Lis pushed back into a crouch. "How would you expect me to look, Alistair? You _died_—we almost lost you forever. I failed you in the worst possible way."

"Failed me!" Alistair tried to sit up, falling back to the bedroll with a gasp and clutching his stomach.

"Don't!" Lis reached out a hand and laid it on his shoulder. "Anders said you shouldn't move. Not until he can heal you more. He'll be back in a few days."

Alistair took her hand. "You didn't fail me. Why do you think such a thing?"

Lis looked down at his hand holding hers. "I did nothing to stop Kallian from…doing what she did. You taught me the cleansing aura. I could have used it against the mages. But—"

"You couldn't do that unless you could see him cast a spell. The only thing you could have done is something I didn't do, either—attack Kallian on sight—and that wouldn't have stopped the mages from doing just what they did.

"I…wanted to know why…needed to know. Then I lost my temper. It was stupid and almost got me killed. It also spoiled the very small chance I might have had to get through to her." Alistair gave Lis a tense smile. "Not the first time."

"You…still care about her?"

"Not the way you mean. I wanted to…save her, I guess." His eyebrows pulled together. "That sounds ridiculous. Kallian thinks I'm deluded. And stupid. I think she uses Duncan's words to excuse for the inexcusable, but it's too late to convince her of that. It's been too late for years. Maybe it always was." Alistair's hand tightened on hers. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Alistair…when we see her again, I'm going to kill her. I won't wait next time. I can't."

"I…. I'm okay with that. Dueling me would have been one thing, but…no. I won't wait, either."

Lis nodded. "I'm going to get a potion for you. I'll be right back."

"I'll be here." Alistair let go of her hand, his arm dropping to his side, and closed his eyes.

As she rose to her feet, looking at the lines of pain etching Alistair's face, Lis wondered at how completely her desire to avenge her treatment at Avernus's hands had been replaced by a cold, hard certainty that Kallian was far more of a threat. "I don't think you were a fool, Alistair. Kallian is the only fool in this."

Alistair's eyes opened, but she didn't wait for his answer. She was going to get that potion and follow Anders's instructions to the letter. Alistair was going to recover.

Then Kallian was going to die.


	14. Chapter 14

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story (all chapters posted) is on my profile page.

* * *

Alistair stifled a groan. It hurt to breathe—no surprise, it hurt just to lie there. The potions and poultices were helping, but not enough. He was trying to remember that he was lucky to be alive, not just lucky that he didn't hurt as much as when Kallian had rammed her sword through his chest. Being impaled slowly and carefully…. He couldn't describe that—he didn't have the right words. 'It really hurt a lot' didn't begin to do it justice.

He dragged his mind away from the memory and everything that went with it. Alistair was certain it would reappear in nightmares, but that wasn't anywhere he was going to go voluntarily.

It had taken some argument, but he'd managed to convince Lis to prop him up a little by putting his pack behind his back, so now he could see something besides the trees overhead.

What he saw worried him.

Lis was filling every moment with some task, cleaning armor, scrubbing cooking pots until they gleamed, repairing anything she could find that had a small flaw, no matter how slight. Right now, she was actually mending a sock—something he doubted would be on her list of 'things to do' under normal circumstances. He was surprised she knew how.

She kept looking at him as though checking to see that he was still there—or breathing.

He'd tried to tell her that he was doing well, all things considered, but it didn't seem to make a difference. Maybe she could tell that wasn't the complete truth, but Alistair didn't want to make anyone worry. It wasn't like they could change anything. Whatever the reason, Lis was restless and kind of irritable. He was afraid her head would explode when she ran out of things to fix.

Oghren was working his way through any and all liquor they had.

Alistair had been asleep when he'd returned from keeping watch through the night, but Lis told him that Oghren had come back shortly after dawn, slept for a few hours, and then started drinking. He hadn't stopped since.

There couldn't be much liquor left in camp. Or there might. Oghren always seemed to have more, some of it so deadly and potent that it took little space. Empty bottles were scattered around where he sat on one of the bridges, and he was working on a flask. It reminded Alistair of what he'd done when they returned from the Deep Roads after they'd had to kill his madwoman of a wife.

Leliana was hunched over her lute, half-heartedly plinking out something so mournful that Alistair very much wished she would stop. It was depressing. Really, really depressing—and it wasn't even very good.

He had to do something about this. Alistair sighed. They seemed to have decided that he was the leader on this journey, unnerving as that was, and that meant he had to do something…leader-y.

When Lis next looked up to check on him, Alistair waved her over. He took a breath as shallow as would let him speak. "Lis…. Could you ask Leliana to come talk to me…when she has a moment?" He took another small breath, inwardly wincing at how weak his voice sounded. "And I hate to ask this of you, but could you try and find out what's going on with Oghren? I'd ask him myself, but it doesn't look like walking is an option…for either of us."

Tilting her head, Lis's brows pulling in to make deep lines between her eyes. "I can already tell you what's wrong with him, Alistair. He watched someone who was once a friend murder another in the worst possible way."

Alistair decided to ignore the frown. He just wasn't up to figuring out what he'd said wrong or was supposed to be doing differently. "Can we agree to say 'tried to murder?' It's just…better." Alistair tipped his head toward Oghren. "He isn't always as straightforward as you'd think—and it won't do any harm to talk…right?"

"So says the man who isn't going to be talking to him." Lis handed him a healing potion. "I know you're feeling worse than you're saying, Alistair. Worse than last night. You can hardly talk. How am I supposed to help, if you won't trust me?" She walked over to where Leliana sat and bent down to speak with her.

Putting the potion down beside him, Alistair closed his eyes and focused on willing the pain away. If he concentrated very hard, he could make it fade. He wondered if the templars knew that. It wasn't something that he'd ever been taught. Of course, they never lacked for mages or lyrium in a way that made it necessary.

"How are you, Alistair?" Leliana's voice was quiet.

Opening his eyes, he said, "Better than you'd expect."

"Is that why you haven't used the potion? If you say yes, I will be very angry with you, because I know that's not true."

Alistair looked away.

"Alistair. Tell me."

He let out a sigh, frowning, and looked back at her. "We don't have enough potions—not if I keep taking them so often." He paused, trying to catch his breath while not breathing so deeply as to send pain shooting through his chest. "I don't think they're healing…so much as keeping things from getting worse. Or things are already worse…and they're healing that…I don't know." He stopped again. This time the breath he took sounded more like a wheeze. "They're not doing anything like what the healing spells did. This mage, Anders…you said that he'd be back…in four days. That's fast. Five or six days…is realistic. More if he's delayed. If the potions run out…I'm not sure how long I'd last. Not days."

Leliana put a hand on his shoulder. "Too much talking, Alistair. You do yourself no good at all." She shook her head. "Anders said you should take the potions every few hours, and that's what I think you should do. I'm worried about how much trouble you're having breathing. I'm sure he wasn't that specific without reason—and I believe he will be back when he said, and that he will push himself to do so. I think we can trust him."

"Why? Why would he go to so much trouble…to help me?"

"Perhaps because he can?"

Alistair shook his head.

"That's very sad, Alistair."

"Sad…that song you were playing…." He lifted an eyebrow. "A dirge?"

"I feel sad." She picked up the potion and handed it to him. "We convinced you to return, we told you that we would stand by you, and that you would be safe. Look what has happened."

"You never promised I'd be safe…never expected that." Alistair drew another shallow breath and pulled the stopper from the flask. Leliana might be right. Maybe he wasn't doing himself any good by delaying taking the potions. Either the mage would return in time, or he wouldn't. "I wasn't really living in Orlais…safe enough, but I couldn't keep going that way."

He tipped up the flask and drained it. Maker! That was better. He could almost breathe properly and it hurt much less than it had before. "Whatever happens now…it's better than spending my time feeling cursing the past and doing nothing of worth."

Leliana reached out to take the empty flask, and he caught her hand. "You did the right thing, Leliana—you and Oghren both. Don't ever doubt that. No matter what happens." Alistair gave a smile. "So play something more cheerful, okay? It's a little disturbing to listen to funereal music while injured."

Releasing her hand, he looked past her to the bridge. "That really wasn't what I had in mind when I asked Lis to talk to Oghren."

Lis was sitting on the bridge next to a scowling Oghren, holding the flask. She took a swig, said something Alistair couldn't hear, and poked Oghren in the chest—hard.

Looking back to Leliana, Alistair lifted an eyebrow. "Uh oh."

Oghren gave a snort and answered, his voice loud enough that he could be heard over the sound of the waterfall. "No imagination. You can pull out a lot of guts before someone dies." He took the flask from Lis and drank. "Kallian is tough. You'd end things too quick."

Lis's teeth bared in a grim smile, her voice rising to drift across the clearing. "Okay, intestines, then the heart." She took the flask the Oghren offered.

Their voices dropped again, but from their expressions and animated gestures, Alistair had no doubt that what they were saying was equally gory. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. "Well. That's just disturbing." His mouth pulled up to one side. "At least they're in agreement. It looked like they were about to come to blows for a moment."

Leliana put a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "I'm going into the forest to search for elfroot. We may not be able to make more potions, but we can make you elfroot tea." She rose to her feet. "Don't worry, Alistair. I'm certain that Anders will return. Otherwise, why would he have saved you?"

"That's the big question, isn't it?"

As Leliana disappeared into the forest, Alistair watched Lis and Oghren discuss various ways of dismembering his former lover over yet another flask of something that would peel paint. He let out a breath slowly.

He seemed to have used up all of his anger fighting with Kallian. Now he just felt sorrow that it had come to this—and confusion. How could he and Kallian have seen things so differently? How could he have been so oblivious to her true feelings? Why hadn't she said something? He was haunted by the idea that he could have prevented all this, somehow. Or that he might have caused it.

No, people didn't kill others for disagreeing with them, not normal people, anyway. And you had to stand up for what you believed, didn't you?

That didn't mean he hadn't made things worse.

Alistair's thoughts drifted through all the conversations he'd had with Kallian, all the arguments, the happier moments, the intimate ones, examining his behavior and second guessing everything.

Eventually, he fell asleep and had a very unpleasant dream where his every action created disaster. It didn't end well.

* * *

When Alistair woke up, the sun was sinking behind the trees, Oghren was sprawled out on the bridge, snoring, and Leliana was cooking something that he wouldn't be allowed to eat.

Near the fire, Lis was sitting with her elbows on her knees, and her head propped up by her hands. She swayed forward then righted herself like someone who was fighting a losing battle with sleep—or passing out.

Either way, she was slipping. He'd been awake for close to a quarter of an hour and she hadn't checked to see that he was still breathing even once.

Ah! A little worse for wear, but not slipping. She craned her neck around awkwardly to look over her shoulder.

Alistair lifted a hand. Still breathing…don't break your neck. He smiled and she pushed herself off the ground with one hand, staggering a little, before coming over to him with the careful attention to movement of the inebriated.

He remembered that from his time in Orlais, and well enough to know that it felt a lot more coordinated than it looked. It was good that she was giving the fire wide berth.

Lis dropped down beside him, leaned back on her hands, and let out a groan.

"How's Oghren?"

She looked at him through heavy lidded eyes. "Angry. Same as the rest of us. Better for complaining about it, maybe." She frowned. "Why aren't you angry, Alistair? I saw how angry you still are about Loghain. I don't see any of that in you now."

"Well, I'm not _happy_ about this. Maybe I'm just not up to feeling angry."

Lis shook her head with exaggerated movements. "I don't think so. If I was to defend Loghain now, I bet there'd be anger. I think you don't feel like this was as bad."

"We don't really have to talk about this, do we?"

She leaned toward him, her gaze intent for all her body was swaying. "We do."

"Really? Because I can think of more interesting things to talk about. How long it will be before Leliana lets me eat, for instance. I really think it's unfair of her to cook something that smells so good. I should demand that you all eat awful, boring food until I'm well. Can you cook? If you can't, maybe you should take over from Leliana. I used to cook, but they made me stop."

"Alistair, I'm _serious_."

She was, too, the way only the very drunk can be. Maker…. "It wasn't as bad. This was just me. Loghain caused the deaths of the Wardens and all who fought with them, including the king he'd sworn to serve. He killed Duncan. He allowed the Blight to spread across Fereldan for fear of Orlais.

"Kallian…well, her method was unusually brutal, but why should I be surprised that she tried to kill me now? It's not the first time. I'm used to the idea, I guess." He looked away from Lis and stared across the camp. "Her reasons turned out to be surprising, I admit—at least they were to me. I should probably have noticed some of that, shouldn't I? I mean, how could I not? And she wasn't entirely wrong. Not about all of it."

"Not wrong? How can you say that?" Her eyebrows rising, Lis lifted a hand to slash it through the air. "She wanted you to follow her like a lap dog trails its master!" She overbalanced and had to push herself upright to keep from falling over.

"She was right that I would have abandoned the fight against the Blight rather than see Loghain made a Warden."

Lis abandoned a fight of her own—remaining upright—and leaned back on her elbows. She seemed to find that too much effort, still, because she let herself drop to the ground, stretched out beside his bedroll. She rolled on to her side and proper up her head with one hand. "Why do you think you're better than the rest of us, hmmm? You're human, you know. We all have lines we won't cross. I have many!" She wagged a finger. "Many, many, many….

"Why do I think that you try to find excuses for others that you won't allow yourself? Maker's blood, you can't tell me that you didn't want to find an excuse for Kallian—some reason that would let you forgive her, and after everything. Else why all the yelling? Why didn't you attack? You knew what she helped Avernus do."

"You don't have to remind me, Lis. I was there, remember?"

"Well, you don't seem to! You're more forgiving of Kallian than yourself!"

He looked at Lis, frowning. "I would have betrayed Duncan's memory, just as she said. I don't think I could have forgiven myself for that."

"Oh, so now you'll punish yourself for things you didn't do? And what if you had? You are too hard on yourself. A passion for justice that will allow no compromise is not so great a flaw."

Alistair shook his head.

"Bah." Lifting a hand, Lis gave a wave as though brushing off an annoying insect. "I wash my hands of you." She turned on to her back, closing her eyes. "I'll forgive you later—you're too blasted good looking not to." She opened her eyes and turned her head toward him. "Trust me on this. You're not as you judge yourself to be and you're _nothing_ like Kallian sees you. I'm right, you're wrong—so there." Her eyes closed again.

After fighting a losing battle with himself, Alistair asked, "What am I, then?"

The only answer he got was a light snore. That's what he got for fishing for compliments. Smiling, Alistair flipped his extra blanket over her as well as he could, which wasn't very.

She thought he was good looking, did she? A grin spread across his face before reason asserted itself. There was no telling what his future would hold, but there were far too many things that put it in doubt to get involved with a woman like Lis. He had nothing to offer her.

He slid down in his bedroll and turned his head, admiring the strong, graceful lines of her face. That didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy her company while he could.

* * *

On waking the next morning, Alistair felt significantly better. Not 'get up and dance' better—or even 'I can stand up' better, but a lot less like he might die. That seemed like a good sign. He opened his eyes to find Lis temptingly close to him. At least, tempting until she opened her eyes and said, "I don't feel good, Alistair."

"How 'not good' are we talking about, here? I can't flee, you know."

She gave him a wan smile. "You're safe. It's not that kind of 'not good.'"

"Whew! Bad enough that I'm wearing a gambeson that's covered in dried blood. Even a sprinkling of vomit would put me beyond the pale. Headache?"

She nodded, wincing at the movement.

Reaching for a flask, he picked it up and handed it to her. "Elfroot tea. It's not unpleasant, even cold, and it should fix you right up."

Lis sat up to drink the tea and Alistair felt a twinge of regret. The feeling of her lying beside him through the night had been very pleasant, to say the least.

He chided himself. That wasn't how he should be thinking, it could lead to nothing good. Alistair pushed aside an insistent thought that it could lead to something more than just good, if he was a very lucky man.

Maker's breath, how many times did he have to remind himself that it was a bad idea to be thinking that way?

Holding up the flask, Lis waved it at him. "That helped. I'll make you some more."

Alistair tapped a hand on the pack behind his head. "There's still a bit of the qunari tea left. Why don't you make some of that, too?"

"That would be just the thing!" Lis moved around behind him and dug around in the pack. "You don't have anything embarrassing in here, do you?"

"Like what? Illicit correspondence between me and the grand cleric? Frilly dresses in my size? Naughty books pilfered from Wynne?"

Lis stopped rummaging. "Your elderly mage read naughty books?"

"You find that idea more shocking than an affair with the head of the Chantry, or me in frilly dresses?"

"Not more shocking, just more likely to be true."

Alistair tilted his head back. "I do _not_ pilfer books."

After flicking a finger against his head, Lis pulled the tea from the pack, and sat down beside him again.

"Ow. That hurt."

"Oh, I'm sure! You've been the model of stoicism throughout this, and now you're whimpering?"

"I only whimper about the little things, otherwise, my teeth are gritted tight so I don't scream like a little girl."

"Watch what you say about girls, or I'll really make you whimper."

Alistair's thoughts wandered to ways she might make him whimper. Apparently he didn't school his expression very well.

"Alistair…why are you smiling like that?"

"Er, no reason. Just looking forward to the tea…."

"Are you blushing?"

He was, too, he could feel it. Blast. "Sun burn. That's what it is."

"Right. Sun burn—in the forest."

"I'm sick. You shouldn't be mean to me."

She grinned. "Okay, I'll stop. You are sharing your tea after all. I'll even wash that gambeson for you this later, if the sun breaks through and warms the day. See? I'm not mean at all."

"No, that would be very unmean. I'd appreciate that."

"I'm glad you appreciate my virtues." Lis rose holding the flask and the tea. "Back in a bit."

Alistair watched as she crossed the camp, fully appreciating all her virtues. He was a bad, bad man.

He was still waiting on his tea, and more to the point, for Lis, when Oghren wandered over, looking surprisingly upbeat for someone who'd spent an entire day drinking. Maybe he wasn't sober enough to be hung over.

Oghren grinned at him. "So."

"So?"

"You and the teyrn's sister. "

Holding up a hand, Alistair said, "No. Not me and the teyrn's sister."

"You can't fool me, boy." Oghren tipped his head toward the blanket Lis had used the night before.

"She fell asleep, Oghren. That's it."

"You're telling me, she was right there, inches away—the whole night—and no fine flour was milled?"

"Yes, that's what I'm telling you. No oats were rolled, no stills were tapped, no hats were donned. "

"You were already lying down! By my ancestors, are you slow?"

"Other considerations aside, you may have notice that I can't actually move, Oghren."

"Heh, who says you have to be the one moving? She's got those long legs, she could really—"

Alistair's hands cut through the air. "Aht! Stop right there!"

Oghren shook his head. "Chantry prude."

"Yes. I'm a prude. Respect my tender sensibilities."

"She's a fine woman, duster. Just what she should be. She can hold her liquor, too. You aren't going to get stupid about this, are you?" Oghren scowled at him.

Alistair looked down at his hands. "I have nothing to offer her, Oghren. No future, no home, nothing…."

"You're going with stupid, then. We'll just see how long she lets you get away with that."

"What about you, Oghren?" Alistair looked at Oghren. "Do you have someone special waiting for you somewhere?"

"Eh. There was someone I wanted to look up once. Girl named Felsi. We had a little misunderstanding. I knew she'd still have a hankering for ol' Oghren, but Kallian didn't think we had the time, and afterwards…. Well, between me and Branka, and you and Kallian, 'special' wasn't looking so special."

"Where was she?"

"Last I heard, she was working at that inn on Lake Calenhad, but that was almost three years ago. Might be anywhere by now."

Alistair lifted his eyebrows. "We could find out…if you want. I don't want to go after Kallian or her mages again until we have more healing supplies. Carrying lyrium could be helpful, too, it seems. Maybe we can convince the Circle to let a mage travel with us."

"If we're there, anyway—sure. I wouldn't mind that."

"Okay, we'll go there next." Alistair gave him a nod.

"You're all right, duster. For someone who doesn't have the sense to stick—"

"No! No, okay?"

"Heh, heh…. Later, duster. Here comes your girlfriend. Just so you know? She's not half as prissy as you."

Oghren gave Lis a grin and a wave before going back to the fire to sit next to Leliana.

Lis handed Alistair a cup of tea. "What's Oghren grinning about?"

"We're going to find a girlfriend of his—try, anyway."

"Okay." She sat down beside Alistair.

Alistair frowned. "You think I'm finding excuses not to go after Kallian. After…this."

"No, I don't think that a bit. Maker, Alistair! I think I need a week or so before we see that bitch again, and I'm glad we're going to help Oghren. I'm not second guessing you."

"Oh. Sorry, I—"

"Would be no coward if you wanted to take a couple of weeks to recover from dying!"

She frowned at him, her forehead furrowed. "Drink your tea."

Bringing his right fist to his chest, Alistair gave her a salute, then raised an eyebrow, smiling.

Lis dropped her head to blow on her tea and gave him a sideways glance, a smile curving her lips. "I told you I lack tact. There you see it in action."

"Tact is overrated. There's something to be said for totally honest expression."

"Well, I hope you continue to feel that way. I'm told it's not my most endearing quality."

"You'd be surprised."


	15. Chapter 15

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story (all chapters posted) is on my profile page.

So...here's the thing about comments... They're fun to read and all, but it's just as fun to see how many people come back twice a week to read the new chapters. The main reason comments matter, though, other than finding out what might not be working and what is, is that their existance is a review in and of itself. And I kind of shot myself in the foot by posting the story both here and on LJ, dividing my reviews. Not that I plan on doing anything different for part two, mind you-I still want an illustrated version because I enjoy making the pictures, but I think that the numbers game might be keeping some who would enjoy the story from giving it a shot. Long message short, if you're enjoying the story and think others would, too, maybe think about commenting. I'm not going to be all footstompy about it, and this is the only time I'm going to mention it because, as I say, I'm just happy to see so many reading. Thanks! And thanks to those who've reviewed!

* * *

By the third day, Alistair was starting to get bored. That was a good thing because it meant that he was able to stay awake long enough to actually feel bored.

He was going to run out of potions sometime the next day, but that worried him a little less than it had. As long as he didn't do anything more active than lying on the ground, Alistair thought he'd continue to get better even without them—more slowly, and likely more painfully, but he'd heal. Probably.

The big issue would be camping on this small island for weeks, maybe even longer.

Still, it was nice to have the idea that he wasn't completely at the mercy of the mage, dependent on his prompt return. That didn't stop him from anticipating it with increasing impatience, though.

Lis came over with a cup of broth for him and Alistair tried to feel grateful. He was getting tired of broth.

If this dragged out over weeks or—horrible thought—months, he might turn into one of those nasty, whining invalids who were never happy with anything. Like that old sister at the chantry who would smack boys for no good reason.

Swearing to himself that he'd never become Sister Rosamund, he gave Lis an appreciative smile that she clearly thought was excessive for broth, if her raised eyebrow was anything to go by.

Oghren and Leliana had gone hunting, and tonight they'd probably have something for dinner that Alistair was really going to want to eat. The smell of food had been idly tempting the day before, but he hadn't felt hungry. Now, he was hungry.

Alistair wanted to be healed. He wanted to get up. He wanted to do something. He wanted to be entirely free of the pain, the grinding ache that, while much better than the intense pain he'd had before, was a constant reminder that he was incapable of doing the things he should be doing.

Distraction. That was what he needed. "Let's work on your templar skills, Lis. There's something else I can teach you."

She sat down beside him. "All right, but only if you promise not to do anything yourself."

"Aw, not even one little smite?"

"Not even one."

He smiled at her. "Your wish is my command."

Lifting her eyebrows, she smiled in return, and said, "I'll keep that in mind."

Oh, Maker, this was getting dangerous…. "So, remember how I told you to not be distracted by your emotions when channeling your will?"

"Yes." Leaning back on her hands, Lis stretched her legs out in front of her.

"Well, it's not quite that simple. That's where you start, because you can't be distracted by anger at your opponent, or fears of the moment, but you can use emotion. Everyone finds it easier to accomplish a task, or focus on a problem when it's important.

"Being a templar is no different. You can focus more willpower, and have more strength behind it, if it matters. The trick is to find a way to do that outside a particular situation, to make it automatic and part of your focus as a whole."

Lis tilted her head. "How do you do that?"

"You find a reason for using your willpower and skills that's always present and has strong meaning for you. Something unchanging. So you wouldn't focus on a particular foe that you wanted to defeat, because once they were gone, your motivation would be, too."

Alistair spread his hands. "It can be anything that causes strong feeling. Some templars used their hatred of blood magic, some, their devotion to the Maker. It will be something unique to you.

"Once you've found something that feels right, you practice focusing your will and concentrating on that driving force at the same time. Not it, as much as the emotion it creates. Eventually, you won't be concentrating on more than one thing, because it will become a single, stronger focus. It will just be there when you reach for your will."

Frowning, Alistair tried to think of another way to explain what he meant. "It's like the way a smell can make you feel sad and you don't know why, until you realize that it was present when something sad happened, and has become linked with the event and your feelings. You don't have to remember the event for the smell to trigger the emotion, it's just there.

"So, think about that for a while, and try and find something that you feel strongly about that makes having these skills important to you."

Lis nodded. "I understand—and I don't have to think about it, I already know what to use."

"Good. Stand up and try it then. Don't be discouraged if you lose a little ground at first. This takes time and practice, just like it did when you were first learning to harness your willpower."

Standing, Lis looked around. "What should I smite?" She pointed to a stump on the other side of one of the bridges. "That stump, maybe?"

"Uh…no. Something else."

Her eyebrows rose inquiringly.

"Rabbits live there. I was watching them this morning."

Lis smiled at him for a minute before looking around again. "Okay, how about that rock?" She gestured to a boulder near the edge of the stream.

"Perfect."

She focused her will the way Alistair had showed her, using her body to amplify her focus then calling the power. It was clear that her thoughts were divided, her focus less sound than it had become of late, and it was a weak smite that hit the boulder.

Her next attempt was better, though, and after an hour, she was showing noticeable improvement.

Alistair lifted a hand. "That's enough for now. You're doing very well, Lis. You should be proud of that."

Dropping to the ground beside hem, she took a deep breath. "I can feel the difference."

"It will become less of an effort over time."

Lis's gaze went to the rabbit stump, where a small furred face was peeking out from a hole. "You'd better tell Oghren and Leliana about your friends, or you might find yourself drinking rabbit broth."

"Oghren will mock me, you know."

"Oghren mocks you anyway."

"True." Alistair looked at Lis. "He doesn't mock you."

"No, but he's persistently lewd." She grinned at Alistair. "Want to trade?"

"No." Alistair shook his head. "No, I don't."

"Didn't think so."

* * *

On the morning of the fourth day, Alistair woke early, with the same feeling that a child has on Feastday morning—anticipation, excitement and an undercurrent of dread that there might be no gifts, only an unpleasant prank.

Time crawled.

By noon, Alistair felt like he'd been up for days, not hours. As he drank the last potion, he worried. He might not die, but how could he ask Lis, Oghren and Leliana to stay for the time it would take him to heal?

By nightfall, he'd decided that the mage wasn't going to return.

On the fifth day, Alistair started to feel worse. The pain was sharper and he was having trouble staying awake. He'd been far too optimistic about the possibility of recovering without help, he was sure of that now. He drank as much elfroot tea as he could stomach.

By the morning of the sixth day, Lis came over to distract him, but he couldn't concentrate. He found himself answering her in curt sentences and monosyllables. When she looked distressed, he'd covered her hand with his and said, "I'm sorry."

When she touched his cheek, then dragged a hand across her eyes and rushed away, he felt even worse, but he couldn't concentrate on that either. It hurt too much.

Sometime during the night on the sixth day, he woke to the sound of his name being called, and a tapping on his face. "Lis…?"

"Someone's coming, Alistair."

"…Mage?"

"We don't know. Oghren heard branches breaking. Whoever—whatever—it is will be here in a moment."

Minutes later, the mage ran through the trees, across the bridge, and onto the island. "Sorry I'm late. I had a bit of a templar problem." He pulled off his pack, crouched down next to Alistair, and looked at him as though assessing his condition. "I got back just in time, didn't I? And too late for comfort—literally." As he got to his feet, he said, "Hang on, friend. This won't take long."

He raised his hands and moved them in the arcane motions of a spell, sparkling light cascading down over Alistair.

The pain ebbed. Alistair took a deep breath, relieved in every sense of the word.

The mage raised his hands again and did something else—Alistair couldn't tell what. The hand movements were different—and the feeling was different. He was getting stronger.

Then the mage pulled his pack open and took out a flask, draining it in a few gulps. His face twisted in a grimace. "Ugh. Extra strong, extra tasty."

He looked at Alistair. "This is probably going to feel a little…odd. Oh, and your friends probably told you already, but I'm Anders." Lifting his hands once more, he moved them in a complex pattern then pointed his staff at Alistair.

Alistair gasped and sat up, clutching his stomach. "Maker!" He felt a sharp, ripping pain like he was being torn apart. His insides started moving around like living things, shifting into places they weren't. Then it started to itch, too. Horrible, unreachable itching that made him want to tear off his skin to get to it. He clenched his teeth, but a groan forced its way past his lips.

Anders frowned. "Worse than odd?"

He looked at Lis, who was hovering over Alistair. "Did he take a turn for the worse at any point, or seem to be in more pain than you'd expect?"

"I…. Maker, I don't know—I know nothing of healing magic or injuries this serious!" She stared at Anders. "He did get worse the first day after you left—he couldn't breathe. We thought it was because he was waiting to long between potions. He got better when he drank them more often, but…he said he didn't think they were working right—not healing, just keeping him from getting worse.

Letting out a sigh, Anders nodded. "He was probably right. It's a complication that can happen in very serious cases and is one of the reasons I wanted to get back sooner." He shook his head. "Blasted templars always have the worst timing.

"Things were healing wrong, attaching to things they shouldn't and forming scar tissue. Potions are far too basic a magic to fix that. Without something more advanced, he would have been permanently damaged, if he survived at all."

Kneeling down on one knee next to Alistair, he said, "The spell has to undo the wrong bits before you can be healed. I'm sure it feels terrible—_really_ terrible, but don't worry. It'll all be over in a few minutes."

Alistair felt like it really might be over and soon, without the positive outcome the mage was anticipating, but the feeling of movement slowed then ceased. The pain started to fade. It took longer for the itching to stop—in fact, it got worse before it, too, was finally gone.

No pain. None. No pain of any kind—and everything felt like it was working….

Pulling his legs under him, Alistair pushed himself to his feet, staggering with sudden dizziness.

Lis and Anders grabbed him, one on each side.

"Well, you're an impetuous one." Anders grinned. "I'd do the same if I were stuck in bed alone for a week, I suppose. Careful, now…."

Alistair heard voices, and the sound of armored men running toward the camp.

Anders let go and stepped back. "I should probably tell you that there are some templars on my trail who will be here any second. I was hoping to be done before they got here, but no such luck. They're probably going to want to drag me away to an unpleasant fate. They might even kill me on the spot."

"Apostate, maleficar, what?" Alistair frowned at Anders.

"None of the above. I used to be an apostate. I wasn't dabbling in anything nasty, I just didn't want to live in a dreary tower. I kept escaping. Now I'm a Grey Warden, but apparently I'm not allowed to wander from the Vigil without leave, either."

A group of templars burst into the clearing and ran across the bridge. They didn't look like they had any intention of talking, or even taking Anders alive.

Alistair mustered his will—all the fears, frustrations and pain of the last week feeding his power in a way that he wasn't even going to try and explain to Lis for a while yet, then spread his arms to smite the first of the templars.

Blinding white light spread through the clearing and came blasting down, knocking all the templars across the clearing and sending dirt skyward.

Now that was how his smites were supposed to work. Alistair smiled. About time.

He heard a yell from Anders behind him. "Andraste's knickers! You're a bloody

templar?"

From the corner of his eye, Alistair saw his companions reach for their weapons and raised a hand toward them, keeping his gaze on Anders's pursuers. "No, wait."

Striding forward, Alistair approached the templars, thankful the dizziness had passed. A show of weakness wouldn't help the situation.

One was still down, and the others were picking themselves. One stepped forward. He looked confused at being attacked with templar tactics. "You interfere with our duty, templar!"

"That's ex-templar, actually. Why do you hunt this man? He's no apostate."

"He will always be an apostate. We know him for what he is. It was only a matter of time before he fled the Grey Wardens."

"Apparently, you don't, because he hasn't fled the Grey Wardens. I'm Alistair, the senior Warden in Ferelden. Anders is under my command."

"You're a liar! Only two templars have ever been Wardens. I know Rolan by sight and Alistair Theirin is dead."

"No, not dead, not at the moment anyway. Lot of ex-templars running around smiting people, are there? Wardens or not?"

"There are no ex-templars, except—" The templar looked even more confused. "The Warden-Commander reported this mage missing."

"Ah, she must not have got my message. I'll send her a note. Maybe a bottle of wine to make up for the inconvenience. I always think that's a nice gesture, don't you?"

"I—"

"Oh, look." Alistair pointed at the templar on the ground. "Your friend's waking up. Listen, tell Greagoir that Alistair says 'hello,' and sorry for the trouble, will you? I haven't seen him in ages—since that whole abomination thing at the tower. He's well, I hope?"

The templar nodded slowly.

"That's good." Alistair smiled. "Well, have a safe trip back."

The templars picked their fallen comrade up off the ground, supporting him as they left the clearing, and taking backward glances the whole time.

Now to make sure he hadn't just saved some kind of murderer. He was grateful for his life, but that only went so far. He turned and rejoined his companions.

Lis was grinning at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You forgot you weren't wearing armor, didn't you?"

"Uh…." Alistair looked down at his ripped and stained gambeson, his worn pants. "Yes."

"At least I washed your gambeson."

"And didn't throw up on it. I would have been even more impressive with blood and vomit. Maker, no wonder they didn't believe I was who I said—I mean, who I am."

"You looked very commanding for a man in such blemished garb."

"Good to know." Alistair turned to Anders. "Okay, I just lied through my teeth to the templars. Please tell me that you haven't done anything that's going to make me regret that."

"I really haven't. I probably hate blood magic as much as they do, although they'd never believe it. Can we sit down to discuss this? I just traveled night and day for the better part of a week to get here."

Alistair nodded. "Certainly—and I'm grateful. Really. I just need to know what's going on and how you happened to be on hand to help. Come, let's sit by the fire."

They moved to the fire, seating themselves around it as Oghren added a couple of logs. Leliana cut up the leftover pheasant from their dinner, setting it out with a loaf of bread, and Anders pulled a couple of bottles of wine from his pack.

Once everyone had food—oh, Maker, Alistair was so glad to be eating food—and a cup of wine, he gestured for Anders to begin.

* * *

Lis held her wine cup between her hands and watched Alistair eating voraciously. The knot she'd had in her stomach for the last week started to loosen, and she couldn't stop smiling.

Alistair walking, talking, eating—moving freely without pain. She'd begun to doubt that she'd see this again. If she'd had any lingering doubt about his recovery, that smite would have dispelled it. It had blasted the templars right to the ground.

She only half-listened when Anders began talking—something about Kallian and the darkspawn who called himself 'the Architect.' She'd heard this before, one of the many rumors that had caused Lis to go to Anora in the first place, along with things she'd heard about the burning of Amaranthine.

Lis didn't want to think about Kallian. She just wanted to savor her happiness, and the sight of Alistair entirely healed. Just for a little while—just for tonight.

It wasn't until she realized that she was grinning through discussion of the large number of bodies found in the Amaranthine Chantry, many of them children, that she tore her gaze from Alistair and decided she'd better pay attention. She must look positively ghoulish.

Anders reached for another piece of pheasant. "So between burning the city, which really seemed excessively—what's the word I'm looking for? Cautious? Brutal?" He waved a hand. "Between that and sparing a darkspawn to let him go about some very questionable business, I lost a fair amount of confidence in Kallian's decision making abilities.

"I started to wonder what kind of person I was following and if it might not be time to move on. When she started going off on long, unexplained journeys with Velanna, a woman who's really hard to warm to, and making regular trips to Soldier's Peak, even though the Wardens had all relocated to the Vigil, I got curious. Some of the Wardens said there was a blood mage there. Then she brought Avernus to Amaranthine…. He's an unnerving sort of fellow, and she gave no explanation about who he was and where she found him. Really got on her high ropes when I asked, too.

"He was only in the keep for one night, and she went out of her way to make sure that I didn't speak more than a few words to him. It seemed like she was trying to hide something.

"The next day, she left with Velanna and Avernus, I followed. Something just felt off about the whole thing. They came straight here and waited. I made sure I had a good view and waited, too. You know the rest."

Alistair rubbed his forehead. "That doesn't tell us anything we didn't already know. I was really hoping that you had some idea what she's up to." He looked a Lis then back to Anders. "Avernus was doing something with spells and the blood of taint victims. Do you—"

"Know what blood mages do in the privacy of their lairs? Of course not! I like women, wine and setting my enemies on fire, not doing disgusting things with other people's blood—or my own for that matter." Anders shook his head and held his cup out for a refill.

"I can't find fault with that, can I?" Alistair let out a sigh, and then frowned, leaning forward. "Well, do you have any idea where she might have taken Avernus from here? We have information that there was an underground ruin she was considering. We thought it might be here."

His mouth tightened. "I guess Kallian knew that's what I'd think and took the opportunity to ambush us. That makes me thing that _wherever_ she plans to take him, it's no where I've been—probably somewhere in Amaranthine. Apparently, she can read me like a book."

"Underground…." Anders frowned and rubbed his chin. "There's an abandoned mine that the Architect used for unsavory experiments. That would be just the place for Avernus, he'd fit right in. If not there…hmmm…. There's an entrance to the Deep Roads that opens to the surface, and tunnels beneath a cellar at Vigil's Keep lead to an old dwarven city. Oh, and the smugglers' tunnels, of course. They run under the city and lead to a warehouse on the docks. Kallian might have taken those over for her own use, since we killed the smugglers. I don't know that I'd call those ruins, though. The mine doesn't have ruins, either, in the strictest sense of the word. The person that gave you this information…how good was his vocabulary?"

"Maker's breath!" Alistair's eyebrows rose so high it looked like they might leave his forehead altogether. "Amaranthine is the most unsecured place in Ferelden! That's insane!"

"Howe was too busy with his intrigues and plotting to slaughter my family to look after his people." Lis felt a rush of hatred for Rendon Howe, and her fingers tightened on her cup. "I find I'm completely unsurprised."

Alistair gave her a sympathetic look, his mouth pulling in.

"Lis…. Elissa Cousland." Anders blinked. "My, this is a rarified group, isn't it?" He looked at Leliana and Oghren. "And who are you two? The Empress of Orlais and the heir to the throne of Orzammar?"

Oghren snorted. "Nah. These two are the only fancy types."

Turning away from Lis, Alistair raised an eyebrow. "Hey, there's nothing fancy about me. My mother was a maid and I'm a bastard." He picked up a bottle of wine and filled his cup.

"The bastard son of a king. That's a bit different than if your father had been, say…a baker." Anders laughed. "No insult to your mother, but it's the king part that people remember, not the maid."

Alistair curled his lip. "That certainly seems to be the case."

He straightened as though struck by a thought. "Kallian sent the templars after you. General pique, or might she know that you're here?"

"I don't know how she could know. I didn't tell anyone where I was going."

"You didn't say anything to any of the Wardens that might lead them to guess? Someone you thought you could trust."

"Believe me, I know better than to say anything when I'm about to do a bunk. If I was going to tell anyone, it would have been…. Oh." He looked at Lis. "Uh, there's something you might not know…."

"Call me Lis. What might I not know?"

"Nathaniel Howe is a Grey Warden."

"Andraste's ass!" Lis scowled at Anders. "Was he involved with his father's plot?"

Anders shook his head. "No, not at all. He was in the Free Marches for years. Nathaniel was horrified when he found out that everything said of his father was true.

"At first he thought it was all a plot, but his sister set him straight. She's a decent sort. I was glad to hear that she and her husband left Amaranthine for West Hills just before the city was attacked and burned.

"That's where Nathaniel is now, visiting them, so even if I'd been a foolishly chatty sort, the only person I might have told wasn't here. You might find it hard to believe, but Nathaniel's an honorable fellow, even if he did agree with Kallian about the Architect." Anders's looked around for the platter of food.

Lis did find that hard to believe, but she wasn't going to let thoughts of Howe spoil her happiness this night. Rendon Howe was dead and she'd never seen the need to punish his whole family for his sins.

Passing the food to Anders, Leliana tilted her head, frowning. "Why did he agree with Kallian?"

"He said that with the number of lives that could be saved by ending the Blights forever, it was worth the risk."

Alistair shook his head. "Well, he's wrong. That's not a risk. It's blind stupidity. Even if the Architect really wanted to end the Blight, his primary goal is the survival of the darkspawn. There's nothing that can be good for people about that."

Turning to Anders, he said, "It looks like you can't go back to the Vigil, not until we have evidence against Kallian. We could use your help, if you'd be willing to join us."

"I'm willing—and joining you has the side benefit of keeping the templars off my back." Anders smiled. "I like that in a plan."

Alistair nodded. "Good. We'll be going to Lake Calenhad in the morning. I thought that we'd stop at the tower to get supplies. We might as well let Greagoir see you with me to reinforce the idea that you're still with the Wardens."

"Oh…wonderful. Just what I was hoping for. I so love the tower. And they'll be just thrilled to see me marching around free."

Frowning, Alistair looked at the former apostate for a moment, imagining what might happen if Greagoir didn't believe that Alistair had the right to command Anders. It could get messy. "On second thought, you stay at The Spoiled Princess. If I need to produce you, I can, and if not, I'm not tweaking any noses by bringing you to the tower."

"Good thinking." Anders stood and handed the now empty platter to Leliana. "Time for sleep." He picked up his pack and moved away from the fire.

After dividing the last of the wine between them, Leliana stood and walked over to Alistair. Crouching down, she kissed him on the cheek. "Good night, Alistair. I'm so glad you're well."

Alistair smiled at her and clinked his cup against hers before drinking. "Thank you, Leliana."

"Eh, this is getting sappy. I'm going to bed." Oghren stepped away from the fire then stopped, turning back. "Glad you aren't dead, duster." He walked away quickly.

A smile spread across Alistair's face as he watched Oghren walk away.

He turned to Lis. "Just so you know, my life isn't always this exciting. Sometimes, I go for weeks without anyone trying to poke holes in me."

"That really isn't funny." Lis stared at him for a moment, not wanting to hear him joke about all the people trying to kill him, wanting to tell him how…joyous she felt, but unable to find the words. She rose to her feet.

Alistair stood. His expression was full of dismay. "I'm sorry. I…. Are you mad?"

Lis walked over to him, the memory coming back to her of his body sprawled on the ground, his eyes staring sightlessly. The depth of her sorrow then, her elation now…. Her feelings overwhelmed her.

She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder, and hugged him as tightly as she could, as though he could still slip away if she didn't hold on tight enough.

For a moment, he didn't move, then his arms were around her just as tightly, pulling her close. Lis could feel his warm breath against her hair.

She didn't want to let go—she wanted to stay there, just like that. But she did and reached out a hand to touch his healthy, smiling face. Then Lis turned and left him, knowing that he'd be there in the morning with a certainty that she hadn't felt since Kallian had hurt him so terribly.

The world was right again. She'd have to think about why that was and what it might mean, but right at this minute, it only mattered that Alistair was well.


	16. Chapter 16

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story (all chapters posted) is on my profile page.

* * *

They left early the next morning, heading north through the forest passage to the Imperial Highway. There was no sign of the frequent rain that kept the forest so lush and green, the sun was unseasonably warm and Alistair had an almost forgotten feeling that everything was just as it should be.

He was walking, there was no pain—everything was perfect, as long as he didn't think about why he was here in Ferelden in the first place, which was pretty easy to do right at that moment. Or the fact that his fine new armor was so badly damaged that he was wearing his old veridium splintmail again. But those things were nothing in the face a happiness that he couldn't really explain. It wasn't just being alive and it hadn't been all that long since that wouldn't have meant all that much to him at all. He just…felt good.

Anders and Leliana chattered away—gossip about the nobility to which Lis occasionally had a comment, funny and sharp. Oghren threw in a few dirty jokes, and a recipe for marinated fish that Alistair hoped was a non sequitur.

After a while, he stopped listening and just enjoyed warmth of the sun, content to hear Leliana's laughter, and to watch the smiles come and go on Lis's face.

His thoughts kept coming back to the way Lis had hugged him the night before. Alistair wasn't sure if it meant anything, but his imagination took that memory and ran with it—fast and to all kinds of inappropriate places. It didn't matter how well he knew that nothing between them could go anywhere, he didn't seem to be able to stop himself from wondering if she might have feelings for him.

The problem was he didn't have much to compare it to. He couldn't remember Kallian just hugging him, even after a close call or a hard-fought battle. He was pretty sure it hadn't happened.

Of course, she hadn't been much for touching. She hadn't liked it when he'd tried to take her hand and he'd only tried that twice. Even when they were intimate, she had a tendency to pull away more quickly than Alistair would have preferred—either going to sleep or getting up to do something more important than lounging around with him. Given what they'd been doing just prior to that, he hadn't been about to complain, though.

And Leliana had hugged him from time to time, without meaning anything by it.

Did most people just do that—people who grew up in proper families? Was it something Lis did without thinking? A way of saying 'Hey, congratulations on living!'"

Alistair wanted to come right out and ask, but thinking about asking her made him feel like he was considering jumping off a bridge into a torrent far below when swimming was a distant memory. He still wanted to do it. He'd always been a person who liked to know where he stood And there'd been too many surprises in the past—long before Kallian shocked him to his core.

Lis said that she thought Kallian was the only fool, not what Alistair had expected at all. She said that she thought he was good looking…. It was hard to take that in a bad way, but she'd been drinking. Maybe it didn't count for much. Maybe she was being funny. Maybe she was just glad he wasn't dead.

Was he reading too much into idle comments, or from a hug that hadn't meant that much to her?

Maker's breath, what difference did it make? Nothing changed the fact that Anora could take back the reprieve that had brought Alistair to Ferelden at any time, and he'd be on the run, again. He was still a bastard, a penniless one with nothing but the clothes on his back, and she was still a Cousland.

It would be nothing but selfish to approach her. He had no future to speak of, and his past was tainted by failure.

And yet…he wanted to be selfish—very selfish. He wanted to be heedless, and thoughtless, and throw caution to the winds.

That would be wrong. But, Maker, holding her had felt so very right.

"Alistair, is something wrong?"

He gave Lis a startled glance. "What? I mean…sorry, were you saying something?"

Lifting an eyebrow, she tilted her head. "I suggested that we stop for some lunch, but you didn't seem to hear me, and you look…worried or something. You almost walked into a tree just now."

"Uh…." He searched frantically for something he'd been thinking about that didn't involve hugs, declarations, or Lis in any way. "Roads!"

Lis's other eyebrow arched up.

Okay, that just sounded cryptic and way too intense. Breathe…. Talk like a normal person…. His pace slowed a little as he tried to explain himself. "It's going to take us two days to get out of the forest going north, another day to reach the Imperial Highway and then five more days to get to Southreach. Then we have to go southwest to Lothering before we can even begin to go north to the Circle Tower. All in all, another twelve days or thereabouts. It's ridiculous. It's only four days to Southreach as the crow flies, and if we could go straight to the circle tower from there, the entire trip from here would take half the time.

"There should be a good road cutting through the Southron hills from the Brecilian passage and more going straight through the center of the Bannorn.

"We need better roads. Mostly, we just use whatever the Imperium left behind, wherever they might be." He shook his head. "Someone needs to do something about that."

Smiling, Lis said, "There isn't a whole lot of traffic between the Brecilian forest and the South Reach, you know. Nor through the center of the Bannorn. People cling to the outskirts of larger towns."

"The little villages in the center of the Bannorn have no hope of growing, or increasing trade without proper roads connecting them with other places. And everyone's time is wasted by travel that takes longer than it should."

She gave a laugh. "I would never have guesses that you hid a merchant's heart, Alistair. Are you avaricious at your core? Do you harbor a desire to trade?

Alistair liked the sound of her laughter. It was as open and free of artifice as everything else about her. He smiled. "Well, if I hadn't ended up a templar and a Grey Warden, it wouldn't have been a bad life. Travel and more adventure than most see. I'd probably end up giving half my goods away, though. I doubt I care enough about profit to be a merchant. Mostly, I'm just lazy. I don't want to walk three days north so I can walk three days south again." His smile widened. "Still, I'd have made a better merchant than a footman."

"Anything would be better for you than domestic service. You, servile?" She knocked into him, throwing him off stride. "It would look like you were plotting something."

As he lengthened his step to bring himself to her side once more, he found himself raising an arm to put it around her shoulder. He stopped himself just in time.

Maker! Was this what traveling would be like, now? A constant struggle not to touch her, or let his feelings show?

"Let's…eat lunch."

* * *

"Maker preserve us." Leliana's head bowed and her hand rose to cover her eyes. "These poor people.

Anders started to say something, probably nothing very sensitive, because he glanced at Leliana and seemed to think better of it. After a moment, he said, "They'll be glad of our trade."

Frowning Alistair looked around the village. He didn't see a single familiar face. Had there been any survivors at all? He turned to Lis. "Were you ever in Lothering before the Blight?"

She shook her head.

"We had to leave knowing…what would happen." He looked away, toward the ruins of the Chantry, where so many must have died horribly. "I still feel terrible about that."

He pointed to the burned remains of the building, only a few charred columns and a crumbled wall standing. "That was the Lothering Chantry. It was full of refugees, far more than could be evacuated before the horde arrived. The templars stayed to guard them after the bann and his soldiers pulled out. The Revered Mother stayed, too, giving comfort and aid. They must have died with all the rest."

Turning to the west, he gestured to a motley collection of rough shacks, built with scavenged material, and crammed so closely together that many had shared walls. "There were lots of houses over there. They weren't grand, but they were comfortable. Now look how these people live."

Alistair threw a hand toward some planks that crossed a canal in the center of the village. "Not even the bridge has been rebuilt!"

He frowned at the new inn that was the only decent building in the village. "Well, someone built a _tavern_. At least people can drink their few coppers away. Has Anora done nothing for these people?" His jaw tightened.

Lis put a hand on his arm. "Alistair…most of the south was destroyed. Crops have just begun to grow here in the last year, and much of it is barely edible. Anora probably had the inn built as a place for the Chantry to distribute food delivered by the Crown. It's probably why these people are here.

"Survivors of the horde had no place to prepare meals, even when food was given to them, so the Chantry served communal meals to all who were hungry. From the looks of this place, they might be doing that still."

He looked at her, no less angry. "It's not enough."

"No, it isn't." Her hand tightened on his arm. "I'm sorry, Alistair."

Trying for a smile, all he managed was a slight twitch of his lips. "For the Blight?"

"That this is so hard for you."

"For them, not me." Alistair shook his head. "Come on. Let's go see if there's anyone from the Chantry here. I want to make a donation."

"And I want a drink."

Alistair turned to glare at Oghren.

"Eh, turn that down before you burn my eyeballs out. These people need coin, you sodding mosslicker, and I'm happy to spend it. You want to just give yours away, fine, but I'm not going to feel bad because I take some ale in return."

Lifting his hands, Alistair covered his eyes for a moment, then dragged his hands down his face. He let out a breath. "Sorry, Oghren. I took that the wrong way." He started toward the wooden bridge. "Let's go to the inn."

Once inside, Alistair saw that Lis had been right. There was a line of people waiting to be served food, and while some gave coin in return, most just took their bowls, giving nothing more than a nod of thanks. They ate at long tables, and if there was no room there, sitting on the floor.

Even this much time after the Blight, Ferelden struggled to survive, especially here in the south. Fergus's words came back to Alistair, that widespread famine was likely if the northern crops weren't good this next year….

He looked around for someone who might be in charge, saw an elderly woman in chantry garb at the side of the room, and approached her. "Greetings, Mother…?"

"I am Mother Ailin. How may I help you, ser? Do you require lodging? The fee is reasonable, and goes to feeding the hungry." Her gaze passed over them, as if assessing their level of wealth. "If you're in need of food, we can provide it, of course. A donation is optional, but if you can afford it…."

"We can pay. I'd like to make a donation, as well." Alistair took out the first of the two pouches of gold that Anora had given him. He opened it and started to take out some coin, then gave his head a shake, and handed Mother Ailin the whole pouch.

After glancing inside, her eyebrows rose, her gaze returning to him. She stared speechlessly for so long that Alistair began to feel uncomfortable, shuffling his feet like the chantry boy he'd been, called to task by a revered mother. The thing was, he couldn't think how this was a bad thing.

Finally, she said, "This is most generous, ser, and would certainly help many people, but I must ask…. Have you perhaps been moved by the plight of these people to the point of doing _yourself_ harm? Can you truly afford to give so much?"

Alistair gestured at the wretched survivors who filled the room to capacity. "I don't need gold, not the way they do."

Giving a laugh, Anders said, "Of course not. It's not like you need to eat, or clothe yourself. Or buy supplies so you don't spend a week on your back, trying not to die. Again. Oh, wait…you do."

Alistair frowned at Anders. "I have enough."

"Fine then, but when you come begging for my last crust of bread, you're not getting it." He paused, an eyebrow arching up. "Oh, bother my tender heart! You can have my crusts. I don't like them anyway."

"Your generosity is overwhelming. Really." Alistair looked at the rest of the group. At least Leliana looked pleased. Oghren was shaking his head and Lis…. He didn't quite know how to read her expression. She didn't look like she disapproved, exactly, but she did look a little…exasperated, or something.

Well, he didn't care. It was his gold, and he'd spend it how he chose. Alistair looked at the Revered Mother. "Take it. Please."

She nodded. "As you wish. The Maker smiled on us when the sent you to Lothering. I thank you, ser, on behalf of all who will benefit from your generosity."

Pulling a few silvers from a pocket in his robe, Anders handed it to Mother Ailin, leaning forward, and giving her a smile. "I really wish I could have given you these before the big bag of gold."

Smiling warmly in return, she said, "All donations are equal in the Maker's eyes, as long as they come from the heart."

Alistair thought Anders might be too charming by half.

Leliana and Lis each pulled out coins—Lis's were sovereigns—and handed them to Mother Ailin. After a nasty glare from Lis, Oghren grunted and handed her a silver.

"Thank you, my children. May the Maker bless you all." Mother Ailin raised a hand toward the upper floor. "I can't offer you private rooms, for the inn was built to house the maximum number of people, but I can let you have a large room that should—"

The door burst open, and a haggard man ran up to the Revered Mother, gasping for breath. "Bandits, Mother Ailin! At the north ramp to the highway…."

"Bandits? _Again?_" Alistair looked from the messenger to Mother Ailin. "There's nothing to steal—these people have no money! Why are there bandits?"

"It happens more often than I care to recount. We struggle so…." Mother Ailin rubbed her forehead with a thin hand. "There are only three templars here, and with no bann to oversee Lothering, their duties are many. Bann Ceorlic abandoned this place to the Blight, and he abandons it still. He hasn't even sent soldiers back to protect us.

"When the templars are absent, the bandits come. They must watch, or have an informant. They rob those few travelers with coin or goods, and worse, steal any food shipments that may arrive. Sometimes another shipment arrives too late and all these people go hungry."

Alistair shut his eyes, squinting them tight, his mouth pulling in, as he tried to get a grip in the anger that surged through him, knotting his stomach. His hands shook with the force of it. Thieves. Here. In this pathetic, forsaken place. No. By the Maker, no!

Opening his eyes, he strode to the door and threw it open. He was running before he'd cleared the building.

"Andraste's ass, Alistair! Wait, blast you! We don't know…."

The rest of what Lis said was lost to the wind and the rage that fuelled his rush to the Highway. Boots pounding against stone, he flung himself to the top of the ramp, and launched himself at the crowd of men who held the road.

Startled faces turned toward him—over a score. The leader yelled orders, and they were on him like a pack of wolves. His sword bit deep into cheap leather armor and rusty chain mail. Their skills were no match for his, or for the strength of his sword arm, powered as it was by bitter rage.

They fell before him like wheat before a scythe, but it seemed like each that he killed was replaced by two more. So many were down that there was no room to maneuver without tripping on them.

Alistair looked behind him to find a place where he could back up, to give himself space to move, and saw that his companions fought close around him. There was no where to go but forward. So be it.

Seeing the leader and two of his men outside the fray, he jumped toward them, over the bodies that blocked his path, one foot skidding on blood-slicked stone. As he tried to get his feet under him, the two bodyguards attacked.

They were more skilled than the others.

Alistair brought his shield up just in time to block the block their blows, but staggered backwards, a greave catching on the mail of a corpse.

He pulled his arms in, gathering his will, knowing that he had only seconds before the bandits struck again, and spread his arms wide, bringing a blast of light down on the men before him.

It took but a moment to free his leg, then he killed the bodyguards where they lay stunned.

The leader stood before him, shock and horror on his face. _This_ was the one Alistair wanted. _This_ was the one who thought stealing food from the desperate was a fine way to make a living. Not building Ferelden back up, but tearing a way through rock bottom.

Alistair stepped toward him, his weapon raised.

The bandit leader dropped to his knees and raised his arms. "I surrender! Please…let me live. I'll do whatever you want."

"Alistair!"

Turning to Leliana at the sound of her voice, Alistair saw that the battle was over. The leader was the last man alive.

Leliana took a step toward him, one hand raised. "He has surrendered Alistair. Let him redeem himself. Let him work to help these people instead of harm them."

"No." Alistair swung his blade, taking the man's head from his shoulders, and the leader's body fell to the ground. His hands were still raised in supplication.

Alistair walked away, stepping over bodies as he went, followed by a group that was as silent as he.

* * *

On their return to the inn, Mother Ailin took one look at them, covered with gore as they were—Alistair, particularly—and sent them off to wash in two small rooms off the kitchen, the men to one, women to another, and handed each of them a bundle of donated clothing.

She started to put a hand on Alistair's arm as he took the clothing, but drew back, perhaps because there was no spot on his arm that wasn't covered in blood, and said, "I may be a poor servant of Andraste to feel so, but I am grateful for what you've done. I'll have your armor and clothing cleaned, and your companions'. It's the least we can do."

As he entered the room, Alistair saw that large basins had been put out on a long table, a pile of towels next to them. A few moments later, some of the workers from the inn came in bearing steaming buckets of water, and then waited to take bloody clothes and armor for cleaning.

Oghren finished first. Washing was a slapdash affair with him, and it was always a good idea not to examine his beard too closely.

After dressing in his clean, borrowed clothes, Oghren pursed his lips, glancing at Alistair. "When you were fighting those bandits, anything unusual going on? Seeing red, sound going all funny and distant, or extra strength?"

Alistair had shaken his head. "No, why?"

"You were lookin' like a berserker back there. Just wondered."

"No…nothing like that. I was just…angry."

Oghren snorted. "Just angry. Well…good for you. Cleaned out more than half those sodding thieves before we even got there." He gave a nod and left the room.

Rubbing soap into his hair—a second attempt to get disgusting bits out—Alistair dipped a pitcher into the basin and poured the water over his head. He didn't want to think about what exactly he was having so much trouble washing out, but hopefully this time would be the charm.

He squeezed the water out of his hair and opened his eyes to see Anders watching him closely while drying his hands on a towel.

"You're a bit of a surprise, aren't you? All 'What, _me?_' and inoffensive jokes, and then _bam!_ Righteous templar-king smites the wicked! Good thing I'm a Warden now, or I'd be positively shaking in my little apostate socks."

There was an edge to the words that Alistair wondered at. He frowned at Anders, water from his hair running into his face. He wiped it from his eyes. "I'm not a templar or a king. I'm not anything, anymore."

Anders tossed the towel at him. "Better not let the queen see what you aren't, not-templar, not-king." He followed Oghren out.

What in the Maker's name was wrong with everyone?

Alistair dried his hair with the towel Anders had thrown at him.

It felt strange not to be wearing armor, or even the padded clothing he usually wore under it. Alistair stretched shoulders that felt abnormally unencumbered—dangerously so. He felt…exposed. The fact that he hadn't worn rough, serviceable woolens like these since he was a child at Redcliffe made it even stranger.

It was time to eat, well past time, and it really didn't matter what it was. Putting down the towel, Alistair went through the kitchen into the inn's common-room.

He almost lost his appetite when all eyes turned to him on his entrance, even those of his friends.

Blast it! What was _wrong_ with everyone?

* * *

There was nothing to do. Alistair couldn't go for a walk, because everyone kept staring at him, and besides, you didn't go for an evening stroll through people's misery.

He couldn't clean his armor, or wash his clothes, because that had been done for him.

If they were back at camp, they'd be sitting around the fire, talking and laughing, but here…. The two small oil lamps that lit their room were no substitute for a fire. And the silence, well, that was just uncomfortable.

The only one of his companions who was behaving normally was Oghren. He was downstairs having an ale. Make that many ales.

Alistair looked up from his pack, where he was halfheartedly arranging his belongings.

Anders was lying down, idly making fire come from his fingertips. It illuminated the area around his cot in a way that was pretty, if a tad deadly.

There was a sight to bring joy to the heart of any former templar—a mage literally playing with fire.

Lis was sitting on her cot, frowning at him and biting her lip. She looked away when he glanced toward her, as though not wanting him to see that she'd been watching.

He didn't know what the problem was, but he knew her well enough to know that he didn't have to pull it out of her. She'd tell him when she was ready—or at least give him a hint.

Leliana…. She was sitting with her back to Alistair, her posture slumped. She'd hardly spoken to him all evening, and had kept her gaze averted.

He had to talk to her, but what could he say? He wasn't the least bit sorry that he'd killed those bandits, especially their leader.

Shoving his things back in his pack, Alistair stood, and walked over to Leliana. He sat down next to her on the cot.

She didn't look at him.

Alistair leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs, hands dangling between his knees and let out a sigh. "I don't know what to say, Leliana. I'm sorry I couldn't be…merciful, like you wanted, but I really believe that what those bandits did…it just didn't deserve mercy. People who would steal food from the starving, not just once, but over and over…. they'd just do it again, or worse, if I'd warned them off. And there's no bann here to sit in judgment of any we took alive."

"But that's not why you killed that man when I asked you to let him redeem himself, is it, Alistair?" Leliana turned her head to look at him, and Alistair felt a pang at the sadness he saw in her eyes. "Because Lothering has no bann?"

There was an uncomfortable silence, then Alistair said, "No. It isn't. I wasn't thinking about that at all, but it doesn't make it any less true."

"You killed him because you found what he did unforgivable, yes?

"Yes."

Leliana looked away from him, and down at her hands. "If you had met me before I joined the Chantry—in Orlais—I think you would have done your best to kill me. You might not have succeeded, but I think you would have tried."

Oh, Maker's breath! Alistair looked at Lis and Anders, who couldn't help but be hearing this. Anders pretended to be asleep. Lis's mouth hung open.

When his gaze met hers, her eyes widened, and she spread her hands with a little shrug. She mouthed something that he thought was 'tell her no.'

Right. Because he was sure to think that telling her 'yes' was such a good idea. Maker! He turned back to Leliana. "I can't imagine that's true. I know that you were no traitor. And I can't believe you'd ever have harmed people as badly off as these. Whatever you did…I'm sure I wouldn't find it unforgivable." Andraste's sword, he hoped that was true. And he really hoped they'd never have to find out.

"I stole, killed, and ruined lives for fun, Alistair. For the excitement. I thought it was all a game—the Great Game, it is called." She looked up from her hands briefly. "I did it because Marjolaine asked it of me, but I enjoyed it. I didn't care about the pain I caused. I don't even know if I harmed people like these, because I didn't even bother to think of repercussions. I thought only of myself. Only Marjolaine's betrayal turned me from that life."

Alistair straightened, his hands on his knees. "You changed, Leliana. You saw that wasn't what you wanted and you made yourself a different person, a kinder, more merciful person."

She shook her head, still staring at her hands. "I try to have faith that the Maker guides me and accepts me, but sometimes I wonder if that's true, or if I've really changed at all. I never stopped craving the excitement, Alistair. I still love danger, and moving furtively in the night. I love opening a difficult lock and taking things I'm not supposed to have. I'm not so different, really."

Something in her posture said 'don't touch', but Alistair ignored it, He reached out a hand and gave her shoulder a little shake. "That's good. I need you to open all kinds of locks, and just look at all the danger and excitement we're having! Fun, right?"

The smallest of smiles touched her lips as she gave him a sideways glance. "Fun, Alistair?"

He nodded. "Absolutely." His hand tightened on her shoulder. "You're doing good things with those skills, now, Leliana. We need them—and we need you. Not only that, I need you to remind me to be merciful when I really don't want to be. I can't promise I'll change my mind, but sometimes I will, and I'll always need to hear it."

Reaching up she covered his hand with her own. "Thank you, Alistair." She let her hand drop, and her eyebrows pulled together. "I…think I'll sleep now."

"Leliana…whatever you were before, I'm very glad you're my friend now. Remember that, okay?"

She nodded, that faint smile touching her lips again.

Alistair rose, wishing he could fix it for her, but knowing that he couldn't, any more than she could fix the things in his past that haunted him. Blast it. He needed some air.

He left their room, closing the door behind him quietly, and made his way down the stairs.

For a moment, he considered joining Oghren for an ale, but decided against it, continuing outside. It was warm and clear, and the moon was just high enough to light the night.

Making his way to what now passed for a bridge, Alistair sat on the edge, his legs over the side, and watched the water flow beneath his feet.

"You handled that well."

Alistair looked up at Lis, lifting an eyebrow. "_'Tell her no?'_ Really?"

Lis sat down beside him. "Not my finest moment, I'll admit. That's not an issue I've been called on to address before. You know Leliana better than I, so I really didn't know what you should tell her, but you just looked so…."

"Panicked?"

"Like a deer before hounds."

Alistair laughed. "Just what every man hopes for in moments of crisis, the steely resolution of a frightened woodland creature."

"What you said helped. She's sleeping, anyway. I think you put Anders more at ease, as well."

"He said something?"

"No, but fire stopped coming out of his hands."

"That seems like a good sign. What was the problem, there, do you know? He doesn't seem like the type to get upset by killing bandits."

"Oh, I think it was the whole 'no talking, just killing' thing you had going. Apostates might be a little sensitive to that. Speaking of which…." She pointed a finger at him, so close it made him lean back to get out of the way. The stern look on her face would terrify small children.

It kind of terrified Alistair.

"Don't you ever run into an unknown fight without waiting for us again! Don't run into any fight alone—not ever! We're here to help you, not watch while you take on two dozen bandits by yourself. That makes me very, very unhappy, and I guarantee that you don't want that. And if it's something you want to do by yourself—don't! You take me with you. Okay?"

Eyebrows rising, Alistair said, "You're going _there?_ After sneaking into Soldier's Peak alone?" Part of him wondered why she was so insistent—part of him hoped he knew the answer, even if that wasn't something he should be hoping for at all.

"And look how well that worked out. I didn't have friends to take with me. You do."

"Uh…okay. Sorry, Lis. I wasn't really—"

"Thinking." She scowled at him. "Not one bit."

"No…. I wasn't. I lost my temper."

"I noticed."

Alistair decided that commenting on her current display of temper would be a bad idea, so he turned forward and watched the water flow.

After a moment, Lis leaned against him. "You're not allowed to get into trouble without me. Not anymore."

"Okay."

"Not even when you think it's important."

Alistair put his arm around her shoulder. "Okay."

"You're just saying that so I won't get angry again, aren't you?"

"Yes." He smiled, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

She turned her head to give him a glare.

Ow, nasty! Must avoid the glare…. He looked at her. "Well, not only because of that. I…don't like to see you upset. Especially over me."

A slow smile spread across her face. "Nicely played."

"It's even true."

As they watched the water flow, and the moon rise higher in the sky, Alistair suddenly became aware that his arm was around her, and it felt like that was exactly where it should be.

Maker, he really couldn't trust himself at all.

But he couldn't move his arm now—it would seem odd, even unfriendly. He'd better leave it right where it was. People put arms around friends, after all…. Alistair had a vision of putting an arm around Oghren. He shuddered. Okay, so…people didn't do that.

Lis looked at him. "What was that?"

"Chilly."

"More like unused to normal clothing and too used to being overly warm. How long has it been since you wore anything besides full armor, gambeson and all?"

He could feel the warmth of her skin under the woolen shirt she wore. The closeness of her lips, and the way she leaned against him was all he could think about. Alistair wanted to pull her down onto the bridge, and ask how she might feel about a little ravishment right there in a ridiculously public place. 'Overly warm' was right. He didn't even know if she had feelings for him. "In the last few years? Once, when Fergus lent me clothes for dinner."

She nodded, guessing nothing of what he'd been thinking, thank the Maker. "That's too much danger and not enough good times, I think."

They sat in silence and Alistair tried to remember that he'd spent years honing his self control.

After a while, Lis looked at him again and said, "There's something I was wondering…. It's probably none of my business, Alistair."

"I don't mind. Ask."

"Well…." Her forehead knit in a slight frown. "Unless I miss my guess, Anora gave you quite a bit of gold. More than enough for this journey, and probably enough for you to live comfortably when it's over. You could have bought a nice property, I suspect—until you gave half of it to the Chantry. Why did you do that? Don't you want to make a home for yourself?"

A home. If only. This was exactly why he shouldn't be sitting with his arm around Lis, alone in the moonlight, however much he might like it.

Taking his arm from around her shoulders, he edged away, so she had to sit up. He turned to face her, hoping he didn't look like he'd been struggling with naughty thoughts—and tried to stop thinking them. Lis looked lovely in the moonlight wearing her simple woolen clothes. "A person in my situation can't afford such a thing, and not for lack of gold. A home…it's just a place where people who want to kill you know where you'll be. Anyone else who might live there becomes a target, too. It's a bad idea. The Chantry can use that gold to build houses that can actually be lived in. That's better use than I can make of it."

"But…your situation could change."

"I suppose. But even if Anora were to let me stay in Fereldan, and even after Kallian has been dealt with, those pamphlets with my face on them will still be out there promising a huge reward. And I'll still be the last of the Theirins. Anora isn't the only one who might like to see me removed from the board." Alistair shook his head. "No, I can't make plans like having a home."

Lis's frown deepened. "Will you just disappear, then?"

"I don't want to. That's the last thing I want, but…. I don't know, Lis. I haven't thought that far ahead—there are too many unknown factors. And I told you before, I might not be…anywhere."

Her mouth tightening, Lis looked away.

"All I know it that my life right at this moment is better than it's been in years. I don't want to think past that. I really don't." Alistair stood. "Come on. We should get back to the inn. We'll want to make an early start tomorrow."

It was a good thing that Lis reminded him of what his life really was. He needed to let his brain do more of his thinking.


	17. Chapter 17

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story (all chapters posted) is on my profile page.

* * *

They did make an early start—a very early start, and for once it was Oghren who was up first and urging them on. Seeing Felsi again was obviously a lot more important to him than he was letting on.

In truth, they could have bought health potions or elfroot almost anywhere. Lyrium was a little harder to come by, because it was so strictly controlled, but there was always someone selling it, even if they weren't supposed to be. They didn't have to go to the mage's tower, but the inn at the docks was where Felsi had last been seen, so that was where they were going to go.

Alistair didn't know how this would end, and he didn't know what Anora had planned for any of them, but if there was a possibility that one of them could end this happier than they started, he wanted to take that chance. It was worth the loss of a few days. It was worth a lot more than that.

It would have taken over a week to walk from Lothering to the Circle Tower, but they only walked until they reached the edge of the lake, and managed to pay the captain of a fishing boat to take them the rest of the way. That got them to the docks in four days, arriving late the fourth day.

Nothing seemed to have changed. There was still a templar guarding the Tower dock. The inn was exactly as it had been the last time Alistair had been there almost four years earlier, and before the Blight had reached this far north. Of course, there were no dragon cultists lying in wait, so that was a welcome difference.

The same innkeeper waited at the bar inside and gave them a practiced smile. "Good day, and welcome to The Spoiled Princess! Is there something I can—" The smile changed into something more genuine. "I remember you! You're the people who took care of those ruffians who were threatening my family. It's good to see you again! What can I do for you?"

Alistair looked at Oghren, raising a hand toward the innkeeper. "Oghren?"

Stepping toward the bar, Oghren said, "I'm looking for a dwarf named Felsi. She here?"

The innkeeper shook his head. "No, not anymore. She said she was tired of never seeing anyone but mages and templars. You might find her in Redcliffe. She left on a boat that was headed that way. I don't know if she stayed there, though. She was talking about it, but who knows?"

Oghren's gaze dropped. "Sod it." He looked at Alistair. "Well, it was a long shot. Thanks, anyway."

"We don't have to give up that easily, Oghren. Redcliffe is only a day's journey across the lake."

"Nah, I'm not going to drag the rest of you around on my business."

"You mean like I'm dragging you around on mine?" Alistair smiled. "Of course, we can go to Redcliffe."

As the words came out of his mouth, Alistair's stomach gave a lurch, reminding him that he really didn't want to go to Redcliffe. He ignored that. It would be entirely selfish to keep Oghren from finding Felsi because he felt uncomfortable with the idea of seeing Eamon.

Stepping toward the door, Alistair said, "I'll go to the Tower and get the supplies. I have to talk to Greagoir and make sure he believes that it was really me who sent his templars back to him all bruised—and that it makes a difference to him. Why don't the rest of you get rooms and have some dinner?"

Lis leaned closer to him. "No going off alone, remember?"

"It's just the Tower. There won't be any—"

"And what if Greagoir is less than happy with you?"

"Uh…. I'll just…."

Poking him with a finger, Lis said, "You'll just take me with you, that's what. Don't think that I don't know that's the whole reason you want to go alone."

"There's really no point in arguing, is there?" Alistair lifted an eyebrow at her.

She grinned. "None."

"Well, okay, then."

They made there way down to the docks where they found that the templar, Carroll, was on duty once again.

He pointed at Alistair. "Hey, I remember you! You're one of the Wardens. Good thing I let you across last time, huh? Really cleaned up all those abominations! You want I should take you across to the Tower?"

"That would be good, thanks. Where's Kester?" The boatman, Kester had been the one who'd taken them to the Tower once they'd rid it of Uldred and the abominations, and Alistair had expected to find him manning the dock.

"Day off. C'mon!" Carroll showed them to the small boat, and rowed over to the tower, tying it up at the dock on the other side. "I'll wait here for you. You're the last who'll be coming across tonight, anyway. I need my beauty sleep."

Once they'd passed though the heavy entrance doors, Alistair turned to one on the templars on guard. "Could you tell Greagoir that Alistair is here to see him, please? And tell him I'm sorry for arriving so late in the day." He looked around for the Tower merchant, locating him on the far side of the room. "I'll just buy some things in the mean time."

Lis was grinning at him. He had no idea what he'd done that was amusing. Unnerving, that. "What?"

"It didn't even occur to you that the head of all the templars might refuse to see you, or keep you kicking your heels until it was convenient, did it?"

"Er, no? Why would he do that?"

Her smile widened. "For a fellow who doesn't think he's important, or any kind of leader, you rather expect people to jump when you ask it of them. I find that interesting."

"Maker! That's not interesting, that's rude! Do I really?"

Laughing, she nodded her head. "You do. But not in a rude way." She put her arm through his and moved them toward the merchant. "Come on, let's shop for dangerous things."

They found the Tower merchant in the storeroom where he did business. He smiled at them, gesturing to the tables where his goods were laid out. "Hello! Would you like to buy something?"

Alistair looked at Lis. "Why don't you do this? I'm not all that good a bartering."

"That's going to be a problem when you fulfill your dreams of trade." She nudged him with her elbow before taking her arm from his.

The next half hour was filled with the examination of goods, haggling—which Lis was quite good at—and the loading of purchased goods into their packs. In the end, they'd bought a sizable quantity of elfroot and lyrium dust, as well as all the accoutrements necessary to make those things useful, as well as some pre-made potions and poultices. Lis also bought a fine dragonbone ax that had been enchanted for greater effect. It was very expensive.

Examining the workmanship, Alistair said, "This is a nice axe. I didn't know you fought with one."

"I don't. It's a present for Oghren. I suspect he's feeling a little down. You could tell that he had his heart set on seeing Felsi."

Alistair smiled at her. When he realized that he'd been doing that far too long without saying something, he said, "Good idea. He'll like this a lot."

He turned away from the merchant to see Greagoir standing in the doorway behind them. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were there—you should have said something!"

Greagoir shook his head. "Nay, I needed time to believe what my eyes were seeing. The templars who returned from seeking the mage, Anders, told me that it was Alistair Theirin who'd sent them on their way, but it was difficult to believe. I did not anticipate that you would rise from the dead. Still, on the off-chance that it was true, I withdrew the order against him." He reached out to lay a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "It's good to see you well."

Dropping his hand, he said, "I won't ask you why the Warden-Commander doesn't know where Anders is, and I will take you at your word that he still serves the Wardens. This smacks of internal politics, and is no business of mine.

"Frankly, I'd rather not know unless it involves matters that relate to the templars, or Chantry law." He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Alistair. "Can you assure me that it does not?"

"I…um, no. I'm afraid I can't, but…. This is something I'd rather handle myself, at least for now. It does involve internal matters, as you say. I can deal with it. I think."

Greagoir frowned.

Alistair really didn't want the templars going after a Warden-Commander, or a blood mage one was protecting. He'd rather that didn't get out, and that wasn't the kind of discretion that Anora was hoping for, he was sure. "I give you my word that I'll let you know the second I have any doubt of that. Believe me—I don't want this getting out of hand any more than you do."

Nodding slowly, his arms crossed, Greagoir said, "All right. It's difficult to agree to something without knowing all the facts, but in this case, I will. You proved yourself in ridding the tower of abominations, and I will believe that you can do the same here, but I expect you to keep in touch. If I don't hear from you regularly, I'll have to assume that you have come to harm, and the templars have a job to do."

"That's all I can ask. Thank you. And I'll send word in a couple of weeks to let you know that all is well—or wellish, anyway."

Alistair grinned when Greagoir rolled his eyes and they made their way back to the inn.

The rest of the group was just sitting down to eat. They must have ordered baths, because they looked clean and refreshed in a way that made Alistair long to wash up, but the food smelled too good to let wait. The inn must have a new cook. Nothing smelled very good the last time they were here. He wondered if the ale had improved. On the plus side, it couldn't get any worse.

As he pulled his chair up to the table, he tried to gauge Oghren's state of mind. He looked fine, but that didn't mean much. Oghren wasn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve.

Taking the axe from behind her back, Lis held it toward Oghren. "Here, Oghren. I found this at the tower, and thought you might like it."

Oghren paused, the ale he'd been reaching for untouched, then stood and took the axe. "By my ancestors! This looks fine, indeed!" He looked at Lis. "You're all right." He tipped his head toward Alistair. "You get tired of waiting for that sodding nughumper to stop being so blasted stupid, you let me know." Giving the axe an experimental swing, he added, "Unless we find Felsi, of course."

Alistair choked on his ale.

* * *

A day later, they were walking up from the docks into Redcliffe, and Alistair's stomach was jumping around like he'd swallowed a small animal whole. He just hoped that they could find Felsi and get out before anyone from the castle noticed his presence. There was absolutely enough to worry about without adding complicated conversations about things that Alistair didn't think he really wanted to know.

Oghren strode a head of them. "I'm gonna look at the inn, first. If she doesn't work there, she'll have been in for an ale."

They climbed the hill that led to the inn and Oghren threw open the door. He started for the bar, then stopped short on seeing an attractive dwarf with goldish brown hair serving drinks at one of the tables. "There she is. I'm gonna go talk to her." He looked at Alistair. "Look, you gotta back me up, got it?"

Alistair raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean, 'back you up?'"

"Just…follow my lead, y'know?"

"Well, no. Not really."

Anders stepped between Alistair and Oghren. "Better let me handle this, Templar-King."

Shooting a glare at Anders, Alistair said, "Stop calling me that! But…okay. That would probably be good." He waved a hand to the door. "I'm just going to take my plate armor to the smith. I'd like to be able to use it again."

As he was on his way out the door, Alistair heard Oghren say, "Are you sure you're not a baker? 'Cause you've got a sodding nice set of buns."

Andraste's flaming sword! Thank the Maker he hadn't had to follow _that_ lead.

Alistair hurried back down the hill to see Owen, the blacksmith, but had to stop when he heard his name called. He turned, hoping desperately that it wasn't someone from the castle. "Thomas! Good to see you. You, uh…."

"Lived through my stint in the army? Yes, and don't think I'm not more surprised than anyone!" Thomas's long face grew sorrowful. "Lots of the men didn't. Murdock…."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Thomas. He was a good man."

Thomas nodded. "He was—a dour old sod, but a good one. More of us would have died if it wasn't for him. He was a real hero." Thomas shifted his weight between his feet. "I heard what happened…at the Landsmeet. Everyone here at Redcliffe knows."

Oh, wonderful. That was just…outstanding. His chances of keeping a low profile just went down to about none. "Ah."

Casting his gaze around, as if to make sure no one was listening, Thomas leaned closer. "It didn't make the queen any too popular around here. And people just don't know what to think of the Warden, now. I mean, we're grateful to her, but it's not like she saved us by herself, and folks were beside themselves that we were going to have a king who grew up in Redcliffe."

He straightened. "Anyway, I just wanted to say hello, and how glad I am that they didn't manage to kill you after all. Kind of like your father, aren't you? Everyone thinking you're dead, then popping up all unexpected-like. Just wait 'till people hear about this!"

Thomas gave him a wave and ran toward the inn.

"Thomas, don't—" Alistair closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Oh, blast it! Blast, blast, sodding blast!

"Alistair…."

Opening his eyes, he saw Lis running toward him. "How's Oghren doing?"

"Felsi just called him a worthless copper-plated sword-caste"

"So…no luck?"

"No, I think that means she still likes him."

"Oh. Well…good."

"Alistair, I wanted to talk to you about something. Away from the others."

"I…. Okay, sure. Uh. Could we keep walking though? I'm trying to go unnoticed, and it's not working very well."

"I got that from the man running into the tavern saying that you'd risen from the dead, just like your father."

"Greeeeat. Just what I wanted." He started walking toward Owen's shop. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I think you should go see Eamon."

Alistair stopped and looked at her. "What? Why would I want to do that?"

"I just keep thinking about that room, Alistair—your room back at his estate. It was just so…sad."

"Are you sure you aren't confusing creepy with sad?"

"He mourns you, Alistair. I know you had the servant tell him you're alive, but he might not believe it. He's been certain of your death for years. If he does believe it, he doesn't know where you are, or if you're all right. He doesn't know what happened to you or how you survived. It must be driving him crazy."

Alistair started walking again. "You know what? I don't care."

"I don't believe that. You wouldn't be trying this hard not to see him if you didn't care." She put a hand on his arm, making him stop. "Remember what you said to me? About it not being so great a thing to ask to let my brother see me alive and well?"

Alistair frowned at her. "Yes, and I remember what you called me when I said it, too."

"Alistair…you need to stop hiding from this. I'm not saying that you have to get into all the things we talked about, but you need to let him see that you're well." She moved closer, her hand tightening on his arm. "And not just for his sake."

He gazed into her eyes, so intent, so concerned, then let out a sigh. "You're entirely too good at making me do things I don't want to do."

"If you didn't see the need, you wouldn't. You can't fool me, Alistair."

"Can't I?" His mouth pulled up to one side. "That's probably a good thing. Let's go see the blacksmith."

Alistair led the way to the blacksmith's shop. It no longer smelled like the aftermath of a drinking binge. Owen had been such a remarkable smith when drunk that he must be superb while sober. "Hello, Owen."

The smith looked up from the shield he was polishing. "Andraste's ashes! Hello to you, too, friend! I never thought to see you again. Just shows how much stock you can put in rumors. What can I do for you? I'll aid you in any way I can, and gladly."

"Well, I've got this armor, and it's…a bit damaged." Alistair showed Owen the breastplate he'd been wearing when Kallian had tried to kill him.

Leaning over to examine the bent metal, Owen said. "I pity the poor sod who was wearing this."

Alistair looked at the gaping hole in his armor and tried not to think about that sword making a corresponding hole in him. "I was the poor sod, and I pitied me, too."

Owen looked up at him, his head tilting to one side. "You were wearing this."

"I was."

"I guess you make a habit of not dying when you're supposed to, then, don't you?" Owen shook his head. "Well, that's all to the good. I'll get to this straight away—my other work can wait. It should be done by morning."

"Okay. I'll come back tomorrow." Blast it.

"Need anything else?"

Alistair looked at Lis, who shook her head. "No, I guess that's it. Thanks, Owen. Say hello to Valena for me."

"My pleasure, friend. I'll pass your greeting on. She'll be very happy to hear that you're alive. "

Closing the door to the shop, Alistair shot a glance at Lis. "Tomorrow. Just what I hoped for. Now I get to hear everyone in town go on about one of the worst moments of my life, and congratulate me on not being dead."

"Would you rather they didn't care?"

"No, I'd rather they avoided the topic awkwardly. That's what people are supposed to do in these circumstances—not that this exact situation happens very often. It's like when someone is dragged back from a terrible runaway marriage. You don't say 'Congratulations on avoiding a life of misery, surrounded by unwanted children! Yay!' You pretend it never happened and comment on the weather."

Alistair let out a sigh. "Well, there's no help for it, and if Eamon doesn't know I'm here already, he will soon enough." He lifted a hand toward Lloyd's inn. "Let's go back to the inn full of people comparing me to Maric, and get the others, then we can go to the castle. The fun just never stops, does it?"

* * *

Oghren didn't want to go to the castle. He was very happy where he was, so they left him at the inn.

Anders was happy there, too. Wine, women, and he was a happy man. Alistair couldn't disagree with that.

They seemed to have timed their return perfectly, allowing Oghren to impress Felsi with the heroic nature of their quest, and giving her time to regret that he'd be leaving immediately. The news that they'd be staying overnight—and visiting the Arl…honey on the cake. Alistair felt a little uncomfortable about that, but not as uncomfortable as he felt about seeing Arl Eamon.

When he really _did_ see him, Alistair forgot all about feeling uncomfortable. Eamon looked terrible. Maker, he was thin! And he looked like it had been ten years or more since the Landsmeet, not close to three.

Eamon put down the cup of wine that he held with so little care it almost tipped over. "Maker's breath!" He came forward, threw his arms around Alistair, and clapped him on the back. Stepping back, he grabbed him by the shoulders. "Let me look at you…. Maker, I was certain you were dead. I wondered, when Anora wouldn't allow me to give you a proper funeral, but I thought that was just…." Eamon's eyes filled with tears. He turned away, clearing his throat.

Okay, this was awkward _and_ unsettling. Arl Eamon wasn't emotional—Eamon didn't cry. That was for lesser beings like Alistair and small children with skinned knees, not Arl Eamon, the man for whom the phrase 'stiff upper lip' was coined.

After a moment, Eamon faced Alistair again. "There is nothing I regret more in my life than allowing Anora to take you away, Alistair. I thought it was necessary to defeat the Blight, and it may have been, but were I to have to make that choice now…." He cleared his throat again, blinking. "I…would not have the strength." He shook his head slowly. "Let us retire to my study where we may be more comfortable."

Alistair felt the last of his bitterness and anger against Eamon fade away. He wasn't the only one who'd tried his best for Ferelden only to see it go horribly awry, nor was he the only one to be blindsided by Kallian. He wasn't the only one to have regrets that ate at him—and the Blight really was more important than the execution of one man—Eamon couldn't have ignored that. He shouldn't have.

Soon, they were seated in the arl's study, each with a cup of wine in hand. Eamon watched Alistair the entire time, his expression moving between a smile, and a mournful look that made Alistair nervous. He really didn't want to see anymore strong emotion from Eamon. It was disturbing—like seeing a mountain cry. "Ah…you've met Leliana, Eamon…. And this is Elissa Cousland."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady. I had great respect for your parents, and your brother is doing their memory proud as teyrn."

"Thank you, Arl Eamon. Please, call me Lis."

"And you may call me Eamon." He turned back to Alistair. "How did you escape, Alistair? Where have you been?"

Starting with his frantic battle against Anora's guards, and his furtive escape from the palace, Alistair told Eamon of his flight across Ferelden to the Free Marches, and then of his long journey overland to Orlais, ending in the small village he'd never called home.

He left out the part about sinking into despair once he'd got there, the drinking he'd done in a hopeless attempt to escape his memories, and the way his mind had worked against him ceaselessly. From the looks of Eamon, he already knew something about that last part from his own struggles, and Alistair wasn't proud of the rest. He didn't want to revisit something that he seemed to be free of now, feeling a superstitious dread that talking about it might summon it again.

Alistair sprinkled his tale with humorous anecdotes that seemed funny in retrospect, feeling a need to make the whole thing seem less dire than it had seemed at the time. It had been utterly grim. Eamon didn't need to know that. _No one_ needed to know that, although Leliana and Oghren might have an inkling.

Then he moved on to Oghren's and Leliana's arrival in Orlais, Anora's request, and finished with his meeting with the queen in Denerim.

Asking questions throughout, Eamon finally stood, his brow pulled low, and walked a length of carpet that was more worn than the rest, hands behind his back. "I am uneasy about Anora's intentions, Alistair, very uneasy."

Glancing up from his wine, Alistair answered him quietly. "As am I."

Eamon stopped pacing and looked at him. "And yet you returned to Ferelden. You take a great risk."

Pulling his mouth to one side, Alistair said, "I may have made my life in Orlais sound a bit better than it was. The risk isn't as great as it might seem."

The lines on Eamon's face deepened. "I won't let Anora act against you again, Alistair. You have my word on that. I put you in her sights by naming you as heir, and I won't allow you to be harmed further by my actions."

Alistair frowned at him. He had a very bad feeling about this. "And you would stop her how?"

Eamon's arms cut through the air. "We had to stop the civil war so the armies could unite to fight the Blight. That Blight is no longer a factor. If she moves against you, my hands are no longer tied. And you are still Maric's son."

"What? No!" Alistair jumped up and raised a hand. "No, no, no, absolutely not. No war on my behalf." He shook his head. "I appreciate the thought, Eamon, but I escaped Ferelden once before, I can do it again. Anora is queen now. And no matter what you or I might think about it, that's the end of it."

* * *

Lis couldn't believe what she was hearing. She was shocked speechless. Arl Eamon wasn't just saying that he'd stand up for Alistair, should Anora move against him, he was saying he'd go to war—rebellion against the sitting monarch.

Andraste's ass, that was bold—and incredibly dangerous. He wasn't even raising it as an idea, he was telling Alistair what he was going to do.

Eamon sat down again, and looked at Alistair. "Do you really think Maric would be content to let the daughter of a man who caused the death of his rightful heir hold the throne? To let her profit from her father's treachery? Exile is not the answer, Alistair. It's not what your father would have wanted for you, and I don't believe it's what you want for yourself."

"Okay. Let's talk about that." Alistair raised an eyebrow. "What exactly _did_ Maric want for me, Eamon?" He took his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him.

His gaze dropping, Eamon said, "I'm sorry, Alistair. I can't say."

"Right. Let's leave Maric out of this, then, shall we?"

Her mind racing to head off a plan that might well end in the deaths of both Eamon and Alistair, and would put the two of them at loggerheads, Lis tried to judge the validity of their concerns.

Anora was ambitious, that was certain, and her claim to the throne had been based on the fact that her rear had been firmly planted on it—proximity, not birth—and argued for by bureaucratic skill, rather than blood—but she had been confirmed by the Landsmeet. Sort of. The Landsmeet had voted to support the Wardens, and it was a Warden who'd made that choice.

Lis was having a hard time not asking Eamon and Alistair why in the Maker's name they'd phrased the vote that way the first place. Were they that worried about the amount of support Loghain might have had, enough that the choice between Alistair and Anora was secondary? If they'd done things differently, Kallian's defeat of Loghain would have made Alistair king with no further nonsense.

Maybe it was some attempt to sooth Anora's supporters, to make them feel that the decision was being made by a relatively neutral party, but Kallian had marched in by Alistair's side, and Eamon had clearly thought that she supported Alistair. It hadn't looked neutral at all. Only Kallian's duplicity has made it otherwise. The whole thing was just stupid.

Bah! That's what they got for playing unnecessary political games. Disaster for Alistair, and a Mac Tir on the throne. Well, maybe _now_ was the time for political games.

"Eamon, surely there is some way to ensure Alistair's safety without going so far. Anora promised Alistair a safe return, and there's no reason to believe that she has other plans. A show of support by yourself, and my brother, who would definitely speak up on Alistair's behalf, would make certain that was so. Perhaps we can negotiate. There must be a solution that would be satisfactory to all."

Eamon and Alistair looked at her without speaking. It was exactly how her tutor, Aldous, had looked at her when she'd answered one of his questions in a particularly foolish manner. "What?"

Alistair gave her a little smile, his mouth turning up on one side. "Lis…. Anora lies."

Nodding, Eamon said, "Indeed. And with great skill."

"She calls it 'subtlety.'" Alistair's smile widened. "She's such a good liar she can even lie to herself." He shook his head. "Any agreement with her would be a tenuous thing."

"Oh. All right, then…. We can make sure that Alistair appears to be a useful supporter, rather than a threat."

"How?" Eamon leaned back in his chair.

"Well… Perhaps Alistair could be seen as an asset to Ferelden. He's making that happen, anyway. Lothering thinks he's the Maker's right hand, and the people of Redcliffe are quite impressed by his sudden reappearance." Lis frowned, glancing at Alistair. "But that's also where we might have a problem. They see it as a sign that he's much like his father."

Eamon nodded. "He is, in some ways. More than I ever gave him credit for."

His brow lowered and he rubbed his forehead. "How does this make Alistair less of a threat, rather than more of one? The more popular he is, the more Anora will fear rebellion in his name, and comparisons to Maric will ensure that she sees him as a danger to her throne. I see no benefit to this."

"It shows that he can continue to be useful, but yes, that's where my idea has holes."

Leliana had been silent to that point, her gaze going from person to person, her expression unreadable, but now she spoke up. "We need to shape the gossip to our own ends, planting stories about Alistair's support for Anora, and how he wishes there to be peace in Ferelden. If we hear something that may be dangerous to Alistair, we subvert it. At very least, we'll know what is being said, and if we should worry."

Eamon shook his head. "We know what Anora did the last time and I must plan accordingly. The risk is too great to do otherwise."

"Civil war is a greater risk, Eamon, and to more people." The lines between Alistair's eyes deepened as he looked at the arl. "I can't let you do that. The country is barely holding together."

Lis looked at Leliana. "Your idea works for me—and I have no better idea. I think we should make sure people know who Alistair is, instead of trying to keep that quiet. And that he opposes rebellion in his name."

Leliana smiled. "Some tales of good deeds dropped here and there, a few heroic songs sung at inns and taverns letting them know what Alistair has already done. Defeating Uldred, or slaying Flemeth comes to mind. Getting people to talk is not so difficult a thing. Then we try to change the way the people and Anora think of Alistair—moving him from rival to trustworthy servant. We tell them things we wish them to believe and repeat, like how loyal to the crown he is.

Staring at Leliana, Alistair said, "Maker's Breath, Leliana, I'm not _dis_loyal. I don't have to like Anora to be against a war."

"Ah, but your loyalty is to Ferelden, not Anora. We must make people believe that you now agree that she was the best choice to rule."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Alistair. "Anora was resistant to announcing your presence and refused to do so. She wants no one to know that you're working on her behalf, at her instigation. It makes me doubly sure that we should let that and the good you're doing be known. If she wishes you harm, her plans may be easier to accomplish in secret."

"By the Maker!" Alistair leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands. "This sounds embarrassing. I don't think I like this idea at all."


	18. Chapter 18

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story (all chapters posted) is on my profile page.

* * *

Lis felt very pleased with herself.

They'd stayed the night at Redcliffe castle, feasting late into the evening, and when they said their goodbyes the next morning, both Alistair and Eamon had seemed at ease, even somewhat affectionate—in a very restrained sort of way.

Lady Isolde had given Alistair a hug, and thanked him for coming. Not just polite conversation, but heartfelt. Alistair looked like the Black City had popped out of the Fade to land at his feet, all ringing bells and golden towers.

It didn't surprise Lis. Isolde's gaze had rarely left her husband, and Lis was certain that she looked to this reunion to remove the lines of strain from Eamon's face. She might be an idiot, but she was an idiot who loved her husband, regardless of the difference in their ages.

All in all, convincing Alistair to talk to Eamon had worked out very well. He seemed happier, and that was exactly what she'd wanted. And they had a plan to improve Alistair's chances of staying in Ferelden—one that might make him stop talking about how dead he was going to be. Lis found that very difficult to put up with.

As they journeyed toward Amaranthine, refreshed and restocked, Alistair's mood started to change.

The stories of an astonishing variety of misdeeds that he'd engaged in as a mischievous and mostly unsupervised boy at Redcliffe tapered off until they all but stopped. He started looking preoccupied, and then worried.

By the time they camped at the end of the third day, Lis decided that she'd better find out what was wrong, regardless of a decision not to push for answers. She hadn't asked any questions since leaving Redcliffe, although she had many. It was getting harder and harder not to, but she was avoiding doing so.

That was partly because he was so obvious about not wanting to talk about anything of consequence, but also because she was afraid of the answers she might get to the things that mattered most. It felt like he was trying to keep a distance between them. But what worried him might be important. This mood was staying with him too long for it to be otherwise.

Even when it was inconsequential, Alistair didn't seem to like talking about himself very much. Half the time, all you got were jokes unless you really pushed. Oh, he'd talk about other people quite happily, and was pleased to tell you how you should go on, yourself, but his past, or his problems? Those you didn't hear about.

She had a feeling that, given the choice, you'd never hear about such things until there was some urgent need, and then at the last moment. Be that as it may, he seemed to speak more easily when he had a glass of wine in his hand, but then everyone did, didn't they?

Taking a bottle of wine from their supplies, along with two cups, she crossed their camp site to where Alistair was sitting, as deep in thought as he had been for most of the day.

She sat down beside him, poured them each a cup, and handed him one.

Alistair gave her a sideways look, raising an eyebrow. "Oooo…. Sneaky."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if you don't want me to _know_ you're going to ask me uncomfortable questions, you have to bring me wine or ale other times, too."

Lis frowned at him. "I do."

"Sometimes, true, but mostly you just open the bottle, pour yourself a cup, and say 'Hey, come get some before I drink it all!' Next thing we know, the wine's all gone and you're dancing a jig around the campfire, singing naughty ditties."

"I do not!" Dog piss! Here she thought she was being subtle. And Alistair had ruined the word 'subtle' with his talk of Anora. It was always going to mean 'liar' now. She decided to ignore the part about getting drunk and dancing. Anything else would only encourage him.

"Okay, you don't threaten to drink it all. Or dance around the campfire singing naughty ditties. That last bit was just wishful thinking." Alistair smiled, his fingers wrapping around the cup. "I'm not saying that bringing me wine is a bad thing, just that it's not very sneaky. I'm not good at sneaky, either. And I like wine."

He took a sip from his cup, looking at her, and then said, "What did you want to talk about? And don't say 'nothing' to put me off the scent, I won't believe you. Unless I'm _really_ not going to want to talk about it, in which case, I'd rather just drink wine."

Turning to face him, Lis pulled a leg under her. "Something is bothering you, and I wondered what it was."

"Is that all? You scared me with the wine." Alistair shook his head. "I'm worried about this plan. Everything depends on Anora thinking well of me, and that seems like a long shot. I'm worried about what Eamon might do. I'm really worried that I won't be able to stop him, and that people will die for no good reason." He shifted his shoulders, as though trying to release tension building there.

"No good reason? Alistair—"

"There is no good reason." His eyebrows rose, creasing his forehead. "Anora might not be doing everything the way I would, but…she hasn't done anything that warrants rebellion.

"It was bad enough that Ser Alan died protecting me from assassins. I'm sure his wife wouldn't think that was a good reason to lose him. Imagine that multiplied by a hundred—_hundreds_, even! It's…Maker!" Alistair looked down at his cup. "It's just wrong. A chance of birth, and I'm supposed to be worthy of that kind of sacrifice? I might not even have been a good king. You can't do something well just because you want to, no matter how hard you try."

"You seem to have done just that, Alistair. You raised an army that united all the races of Ferelden against the Blight. You saved Eamon and brought down Loghain, the Hero of River Dane."

His lips twisted as a scowl came to his face. "If by 'brought down,' you mean helped Kallian to spare him, then yes. Worse, she let him kill the Archdemon. Now he's an even bigger hero, if a dead one. Well, he was lucky that Kallian insisted on dueling him herself. I would have taken his head, then and there." He shook his head. "The rest doesn't count. Kallian was in charge. It wasn't my responsibility. If it had been, I probably would have screwed it up."

"Maker's blood, Alistair! Who do you see when you look in the mirror? Because it's not the man I'm looking at!"

Alistair's eyes narrowed and an eyebrow arched high. "And who am I, exactly? Go on—tell me, since you know me so much better than I know myself!"

Sodding sarcastic ass! What in Andraste's name was _wrong_ with him? "The fish we had for dinner knows you better than you know yourself! Blast it, Alistair, Anora's a bureaucrat. You're a leader. If only you knew it! Not only that, but you're a good man, too—a good man who puts others ahead of himself more than he should.

"I can think of no one who would work harder for the people of Ferelden, or would care more about their wellbeing." Lis put a hand to her forehead, and took a breath, trying to think of a way to get through to him. "Do you think one has to be perfect to rule? If so that's a shame, because it's never happened. I've never seen you doubt yourself in other areas—why do you doubt yourself so in this?"

"When was I supposed to have a kingly epiphany? When I was sleeping in a stable, or while I was being told I could _never_ be king? Maybe while I was stuck in the Chantry, no hope to leave, and getting into trouble every time I even thought for myself?

"Proud as I was to be a Warden, nothing I did there said 'Boy, you'd be a great king, Alistair!' Oh! And when I decided I really _could_ be king, and might even be good at it—just look how well that went! That was outstanding, don't you think?" Alistair threw a hand up. "Fire and blight, Lis! What do you expect from me?"

"I expect you to see the man you are, not the man you fear you might be! You believed you could be a good king once, a leader, why don't you believe that still? Because you were betrayed? Do you think that means you're unfit to be king? That's ridiculous! Do you think that Cailan was unfit, then? He was betrayed as surely as you. "

Alistair's mouth clamped tight. He put his wine down and stood, looking down at her, deep lines between his eyes.

Rising to her feet, Lis said, "Or are you trying to convince yourself that it's true so you can stop wanting it?"

"I've never wanted power!"

"No, but you want control of your life! You want a measure of freedom. I know you do! And I know you want to help people."

His arm cut through the air between them. "Wanting things just makes it all worse! I don't want anything, least of all to be king!"

Reaching down, Alistair picked up the half bottle of wine. "I think I earned this, don't you? Next time, you better bring two. I think my price for prying just went up." He turned away and strode out of the camp.

Lis pressed her hands against her face. "Agh! Maker!" Dropping her hands, she saw that everyone in camp was staring at her. _"What?"_

"Nothing! Not a thing." Anders raised his hands "I…thought I heard a bear! Just checking. No bear. Whew! What a relief." He turned back to the fire.

Oghren lifted his flask in salute. "Good for you, girl. You tell that mosslicker." He winked at her. "Now you can make up. Heh, heh…. Try not to keep us up all night"

Leliana just looked at Lis and shook her head. "Two peas." She went into her tent.

Turning away from them, Lis tossed back the last of her wine. Andraste's ass, Alistair was stubborn! Stubborn, pigheaded, and blinder than a bat….

Piss and blood! Now he thought she was a complete bitch. She grabbed Alistair's nearly full cup and drained it, too.

* * *

Alistair didn't know where he was going, he was just…going. Away from Lis and her lecturing. Away from being told who he was, and what he should think. Away from pushing, prying and things that hadn't mattered for a long time.

He walked blindly toward the road they'd left to camp for the night. Maybe something would attack him. Let something try, so he could bash its head in. Maker's breath, Lis could be infuriating!

About halfway back to the road, reason asserted itself and he stopped, throwing himself on the ground. He put the bottle down beside him and leaned back against a tree, wiping his hands over his face.

There was no telling who, or what, might be lurking in the night. The camp could be attacked, and he should be close enough to help, even if he didn't want to even _look_ at Lis, or the companions who'd just watch him put on a fine display. Their campfire would be a beacon for any who might wish them harm, and the bandits who had targeted Lothering probably hadn't been the only ones in the area.

But Alistair didn't want to go back to camp any time soon.

Alistair rubbed his stomach. It hurt. It was all knotted up. And he felt kind of queasy. Maybe the fish was bad.

Blast it, what was Lis doing comparing him to dead things with small brains? He'd had enough of that from Morrigan on his last journey through Ferelden. He didn't want Lis to think of him like that, he wanted her to….

Oh, Maker.

Picking up the wine, he took a swig.

Why was he so blasted angry?

Yes, Lis was as insistent as a back alley amulet hawker, but that was no reason for her words to make him want to run screaming into the woods. Sod it—he'd done just that, minus the screaming! Take out the crack about the fish, and what had she really said?

Andraste's sword, he'd just gone into a rage because she'd said he was a good man and a good leader.

What...what just happened?

She was right about one thing. He _had_ thought he could be king. Not always, no, but by the time they went to the Landsmeet. He'd known Loghain had to die for his crimes, and that Anora shouldn't be allowed to take Cailan's throne.

He'd actually started to _want_ to be king. Not because it was a life he'd coveted. He'd wanted to do it because it was his duty, because he could help people and protect them. Maker, he'd even thought that it might be an interesting life for him. He'd believed he _could_ do it, and had wanted to be a good king.

When had that changed? When had he gone back to his old way of thinking, the one drilled into him by Eamon and the Chantry? He'd been raised to know that there were others better qualified for pretty much everything including breathing, and his place in life was to fight in the direction he was pointed, without a lot of dangerous thinking.

Was it on the journey from the Free Marches to Orlais, when he'd expected to found and killed at any second, the failed bastard pretender fleeing the queen's justice?

Maybe it was during those months in Orlais when he doubted his every word and decision.

Or…was it when Kallian turned on him? When he'd lost the throne. Had it just been more bearable to think of it as something he'd never wanted, as though he'd never changed?

Alistair stood, feeling that same tightness in his chest that he'd felt as he'd listened to Lis, the same sense of something like panic and shortness of breath.

No, no, no! He didn't want to be king. He didn't want power. He didn't like people who wanted power! Loghain, Howe, Anora….

Although, it would be really, really nice if fewer people wanted him dead, or a few more people were trying to stop them.

He still wanted to help people. Lis was right about that, too. He'd believed he could do that as king. It made him crazy when he saw things that were wrong, and he couldn't do anything about it. Like food not getting to the Alienage. Like Lothering. Like those bandits. Even the blasted roads….

Maker's breath.

He wanted to be king. He thought that idea had gone with his hopes before the Landsmeet, just another stupid dream. But he still wanted to be king. Even now, after everything.

And what good did that do? None, blast it. None at all.

He slammed a hand into the trunk of the tree, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Nothing was different. Just because…. No, this felt worse. There was no logical reason for it, but it did.

Alistair picked up the bottle, and took a drink. Okay, so…it felt worse. That was just the way it was. He couldn't do anything about it and it wasn't going to change. He could do something about this stupid fight, though. He took another sip for courage then headed back to the camp.

Lis had moved to the fire. Her back was stiff as a board, and she was stabbing a piece of kindling into the ground in a way that made approaching her seem dangerous.

Everyone else in camp seemed to be keeping their distance. Anders was the only one in sight, and that was probably because he was the only one who didn't have a tent to hide in.

"I don't like this. Can we stop?" Alistair leaned over and put the bottle down beside her.

She didn't turn around, and the stick bit into the ground hard enough to send up a spray of dirt. "You think I'm a bossy know-it all."

"You think I have the awareness of a dead fish. No…less than one."

Looking up from arranging his bedroll, Anders said, "That works out nicely, then. You can both be right."

Lis shot him a glare that could peel paint, even when viewed from the side.

Alistair's gaze dropped to his feet. "Lis…I've been thinking about what you said." He rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I did believe that I could be king. And while I told myself I was just doing my duty…I wanted it for more reasons than that. I guess I still do, although it's hard to think of myself as the kind of person who would actually want something like that. Maybe it was just easier to accept failure if the whole thing was a bad idea, anyway. I don't know."

He sat down next to her and stared into the fire. "I've been living my life as though I was going to die tomorrow—and not in a good way, making the most of each moment. More like doing my best not to care about anything.

"If I keep letting the past control my future, whatever it might be, I might as well cut my own throat right now. The only alternative would be to start drinking and never stop, and this time not because I…." Alistair lifted a hand. "That's not important. I just wanted to say…you were right." He turned his head to look at her. "I still don't think it makes a difference. Anora is queen, and nothing has happened to make that a worse thing than rebellion. You didn't change your mind, did you? I mean, you don't think I should…try to be king?"

"Maker! No!" Lis drove the stick into the ground and left it there. "I still think that's more than is necessary to make you safe—and might even…."

"End with my head on a pike? There's that, too."

"It's more than Ferelden can bear right now. The situation is bad enough as it is. I thought you were right to tell Eamon no, and I still do."

Her eyebrows pulled together, and she touched his arm lightly. "I just want you to stop thinking of yourself as less than you are. I want you to believe that you can do anything you set your mind to—because you can."

"Not true!" Anders raised his hands, fire swirling around them. "He can't do this."

"No, but I can do this." Alistair rose to his feet, spreading his arms. A roiling blue cloud spreading outward through the camp, cleansing the area of magic and dousing Anders's flame.

"Hey! Not funny!" Anders dropped his hands. "You know I can leave, right? No healing after battles, no handy resurrections…." He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Catering to my every whim is a much better idea than annoying me." Anders looked at Lis and smiled.

Alistair lifted an eyebrow of his own. "Don't play with fire, Anders."

* * *

__

The Landsmeet…. Loghain stood before them, defeated. Now he would pay for betraying the Wardens, his king, all those who died because the horde had gone unchecked at Ostagar. Now he would pay the only price that was high enough—his life.

_Alistair heard the drone of voices, unnatural, indistinct and loud—distorted beyond recognition, like the words were both too fast and too slow. It was impossible to understand, but he knew what they were saying. He knew—they were snatching his victory away. They were sparing Duncan's murderer._

"_I demand justice, and that means I take the throne, I will be king!"_

_They all smiled at him like he'd said something foolish. _

_Kallian spoke again and this time he heard the words clearly, as bright and sharp as broken glass. "Anora, take the crown."_

_As Alistair looked at Kallian, his heart twisted. Shock and anger that rushed through him with such strength, he could hardly breathe. "You're supporting Anora. You dare! After everything we've struggled to achieve!" He raised a hand toward her, his sorrow dwarfed by his growing rage and disappointment. "You told me once that I need to stand up for myself. Well, here I am! I'm standing. Make me king, not her. Anora isn't an option. She only cares about power."_

_Kallian started to laugh. "And you think you don't? What do you think power is, Alistair? It's getting what you want—and I'm the one with the power."_

"_No!" Alistair looked around him and saw only betrayal. The rage in him grew, a dark and deadly thing. "I will be king—whatever it takes." _

_Drawing his sword, Alistair struck at all within reach. He slaughtered everyone. Loghain, Kallian, Anora, Eamon, Leliana, Oghren…everyone. Bodies surrounded him, friends, foes—all the nobility of Ferelden lay dead at his feet. The armor he wore, Cailan's gold armor, was covered with their blood, and it flowed like a river on the floor of the Landsmeet chamber._

_He knew without looking that the streets outside were choked with bodies, and it was the same everywhere, all across Ferelden. The rage abated and he was filled with a despair that was as all encompassing as that anger. All hope was gone. He'd destroyed everything. He'd destroyed Ferelden. _

_Alistair looked up from the river of blood and saw Flemeth in dragon form. She said, "Men's hearts hold shadows deeper than any tainted creature." Opening her dragon's maw wide in a terrible smile, she laughed. "But why dance? Why not sing? "_

_Turning his sword on himself, Alistair cut his throat with Maric's blade._

As the blade cut deep into his flesh, Alistair woke, gasping for breath, shaking, his eyes filled with tears of horror and grief. The shame—the utter bereavement that had accompanied his actions felt real, and clung to him. His stomach lurched and he ran from his tent, swallowing hard, and trying to control his nausea.

He slept no more that night.


	19. Chapter 19

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story (all chapters posted) is on my profile page.

* * *

The next day, the rain they'd managed to avoid thus far caught up to them with a vengeance. Winter had truly arrived. Alistair watched the clouds roll in with the dawn and prepared for the worst, packing up everything he could while the others slept.

When they emerged from their tents, or in Anders's case, pulled himself from his bedroll, it was sprinkling lightly. And by the time they'd had a hurried breakfast, a steady drizzle was coming down. They wasted no time in getting on their way. When they reached the highway, it was pouring.

Wearing armor in the rain was beyond irritating. It was made to keep large pointy objects out, not water, so it trickled in from all manner of uncomfortable locations, soaking the padded clothing underneath until it was soggy, and three times heavier than it was dry.

Alistair was feeling irritable, anyway. He'd grown used to sleeping at night, something he couldn't have imagined six months ago, and the lack of rest put him on edge.

Or maybe it was dreaming such appalling things, they made him literally ill. If the nightmares started again—or waking things that went with them—he didn't think he could stand it. He really didn't.

His mood went with the weather, dark, bleak and uncomfortable.

It was a good day for brooding, and a bad day for hope, which seemed thin, indeed.

He glanced behind him at Lis. There was something about the Couslands—both Lis and her brother—that made you hope, even when you knew better. They had a way of making it seem that if you forged ahead with honor and courage, all would be well in the end.

It was too easy to get caught up in their confidence. He'd believed the same, once, but it only led to wanting things that just asked for trouble, and expecting people to be things they weren't. Maker, it would be nice to believe that again, though!

He kept telling himself that he couldn't expect to get the things from life that most people hoped for, or even expected, but a sliver of hope had crept in, anyway. Losing that…. It would be almost as hard to live with as the nightmares.

* * *

"Alistair, there's room here for you to hang your clothes by the fire." Leliana pushed her clothes further down the rope that she'd strung between two trees, making room.

"Yes, well, you have a change of clothes, I don't—that's a nice dress, by the way." Alistair jerked a thumb toward Oghren, who was lounging by the fire in all his glory—or most of it. "I think I'll skip sitting by the fire in my small-clothes. They'll dry on me. Eventually."

"You should have kept the clothes Mother Ailin gave you, Alistair." Lis looked warm and dry in Leliana's spare leather armor. Alistair was having trouble not staring at all the places it was too small for her.

"I guess I should have, I thought they needed them more, though."

"Hiding something you're not proud of, nughumper?" Oghren was clearly not worried about displaying himself.

"Maybe I just don't think that a gentleman—"

Oghren scratched himself vigorously.

"Maker's blood, Oghren!" Alistair shot a glance at Leliana. "His pants are closest to the fire, right?"

"Heh, my pants are closest to the fire when I'm wearing them."

Anders, who had brought no less than four robes of varying levels of splendor, reached into his pack for one, and gestured for Alistair to take it. "Here. Don't ruin this. It's one of my favorites."

Alistair crossed the campsite to Anders and reached for the robe. "Thanks."

Leaning toward him, Anders spoke for Alistair's ears only. "Maybe now you'll stop glaring at me."

Keeping his voice low, Alistair said, "I have no problem with you, Anders. I might have been a templar, but I don't hate mages on principle, like some. I like Wynne very much. And you saved my life."

"Well, that's odd, because I could have sworn that your eyes were burning a hole through my back today. If you have something to say—say it."

Oh. Anders noticed that, did he? That put Alistair at a bit of a loss, because he had been glaring at Anders, but he couldn't very well tell him to stop watching Lis, or Alistair would break his fingers.

"Uh…no. Nothing to say."

Anders looked at him, as though deciding whether to have a say himself, then pulled his pack closed and stood.

"You know, you might think that you're very subtle and discreet, but you really aren't. Tell her how you feel, or don't and move on."

Alistair's shoulders tensed. It was none of Anders's business.

His eyes narrowing, Anders tilted his head. "It's the whole 'bastard prince in exile' thing, isn't it? You think you're being chivalrous. Well, that's a crock. Does Lis strike you as the kind of woman who'd appreciate being protected from making her own choices? She'll feed you your guts. Better come clean before she figures that bit of nonsense out."

Anders bent down and picked up his bedroll. "Tell you what, I'll keep my distance until all this is over, but if you haven't said anything by then, all bets are off. I don't want to step on toes, but there's a limit. Who knows? She might prefer me—more fun, and none of the drama." He walked over to the fire and spread the bedroll out to dry.

Watching him, Alistair tried not to scowl in an unsubtle and indiscreet way. Blasted philanderer.

* * *

Leliana leaned over the stone rail at the side of the highway and examined the landscape. "We'll get to South Reach tomorrow." She turned her head to look at Alistair. "We should stop. There was no point in spreading heroic tales and spying in Lothering, they already love you, and we know what they're likely to be saying. They're also too poor to be of influence. South Reach and Denerim are a different story."

"Denerim, too? How long is this going to take? Kallian—"

"Will be more off guard, the longer we take. She believes you to be dead, but she has surely been watching for the rest of us, in case we decided to disregard her warning. No, stopping helps us in more than one way. We should go to a few taverns." She gave Alistair a smile. "I have written some wonderful tales about you, Alistair."

"Ah…I think I'll skip it, thanks. Me looking like the kind of arrogant ass who likes to hear bards sing about him probably wouldn't be helpful."

"Well, _I'm_ going. I want to hear the songs." Lis grinned at him. "I'll tell you all about it, Alistair."

"Andraste's mercy, I'm sure you will." He raised an eyebrow. "Have you no concern for my mortification?"

"None, as well you know. I just wish I could make you come along. It would do you good to see how you might seem to others."

"Not going to happen."

Lis laughed. "I suppose that's for the best. You'd probably blush the whole time, spoiling your heroic demeanor."

"Oh, I don't know about that. A bashful hero is a charming thing." Leliana leaned over and pinched Alistair's cheek.

"Maker! You women are just—"

Leaning against the rail, Anders said, "Oghren and I should go, too. We can keep quiet and listen to what's being said. Especially when you get to the parts about Alistair's loyalty to Anora."

Leliana smiles at Anders approvingly.

"Eh, I'm not one to complain about going drinking, but that leaves the nughumper all by himself, and word of that bounty might have got this far south."

"Blast it, Oghren, _enough!_ I have a name. And you called me 'Warden' in Orlais. That will do, too."

"I thought we were being sneaky."

"Really? Even though everyone else calls me 'Alistair?'" He lifted his hands. "Never mind. We don't have to be sneaky anymore. Leliana's going to be making up wild stories about me in every tavern in Ferelden."

"I don't have to make up stories, Alistair. You gave me the words. I'll just…embellish a little."

Alistair ducked his head, waving a hand. "Fine, fine. Just…do what you have to do. I'll stay in the market. It'll be too crowded for anyone to try anything, even if that pamphlet did make it this far south."

* * *

Wow. This was boring. So very boring…. Alistair stepped out of the way of some men carrying baskets. How long did it take to sing a couple of songs, and spread some tales, even at more than one tavern? They'd decided on three, and which ones, so he could find them if need be.

At first it had been pleasant to sit in the market and watch the people go by. It was a warm day, the market was bustling, and not walking or fighting was kind of nice. But after an hour or so, the charm had worn off.

Alistair browsed the stalls, examined some rather shoddy weaponry, and bought an old amulet with an interesting rune carved on its face. The vendor had a small statue of a griffon on the table, too. It looked like it might be even older than the amulet. Lis had really liked the ones Kallian had given him, and he felt bad about yelling at her when she was just trying to help.

But wasn't that the same thing Kallian had done to him? Maybe he shouldn't give it to her.

He picked up the statue and examined it. The workmanship was fine, delicate and lifelike. It looked like it was gathering itself to leap into flight. Alistair pulled out a coin and bought it, unable to resist the charm of the small figure.

They needed to replenish their supplies, but Leliana was better at picking wine than he was—and she got so much enjoyment from shopping that he didn't want to deprive her of the opportunity, much as that baffled him.

Instead, he bought some meat pies from a stand and sat down on a low stone wall to eat. He'd finished one and was picking up the second when he heard is name.

"Alistair. You don't lack for gall."

Uh oh.

He looked up and saw Ser Cauthrien, a tall brown-haired woman, with a very nasty expression on her face. She was now at Gwaren, by the heraldry on her armor—maybe in charge, for all Alistair knew. Ser Cauthrien had the skill, having been Loghain's right hand, and he suspected that Anora would approve of her blind loyalty to all things Mac Tir. Not that Anora was letting anyone forget whose teyrnir it was. The yellow wyvern of Gwaren was now ensigned with a crown.

She had never liked him one bit, and it didn't look like time had softened her attitude. The good news was that she was alone.

"Ser Cauthrien. Is there a problem?" He took a bite of his meat pie.

"Only for you, as you seem to be even more unthinking than I imagined, returning to Ferelden. And so brazenly! Did you think no one would hear the gossip that spreads behind you like the wake of a tall-masted ship?" She waved a hand toward him. "Here you sit—and with an apostate mage in tow, I hear."

"Yes…I'm sitting, no apostate, though. Just a Warden. And not in tow right at this second—not unless you think he's hiding behind this wall. What—"

"The absolute _gall_ that it takes for you to use the Theirin name after you lost that right at the Landsmeet is beyond belief! You had no right to use it even then."

Alistair dropped the pie, sudden anger pushing him to his feet. "Maric and Eamon gave me that right when they shuffled me around like a pawn. I've never been free of being a Theirin—not a single day."

Bringing a hand up to point at her, he said, "And you know what? No matter what I call myself, Warden or just plain Alistair, it's who I am. I tried to deny that, but it's still controlling my life, so fine!"

He spread his arms. "Yes! I'm Alistair Theirin, the bastard son of King Maric! Nothing I can say or do will ever change that. Nothing at the Landsmeet changed that any more than I ever could. They didn't deny that I'm Maric's son. I didn't leave lacking a name. I left lacking a _life!_"

Ser Cauthrien drew her greatsword. "As you wish. Die a Theirin, then. The queen ordered your death long ago. It's high time that her order was fulfilled. It is most fortunate that I had business with Bryland, and am here to do so."

"What?" Alistair put his hand up surprise dispelling his anger. "Wait, you don't know—"

She swung her sword at his head and Alistair ducked. "Blast it! Stop!"

As she drew her heavy blade back for another swing, he jumped away from the wall and drew his sword. "Anora brought me back here herself!"

"Liar!"

He brought his shield up to block the blow and moved in close so she wouldn't have room to swing. "Look, I'm not lying. Listen to me."

Knocking the pommel of her sword into the side of Alistair's head, she said, "I have no interest in anything you have to say."

"Ow! Fire and blight—all right then!" Ser Cauthrien was still too close for the force of her pommel blow to stun him, so Alistair had to conclude that she'd hit him for the sheer pleasure of doing it.

He brought his shield up, his sword at the ready. He really should wear a helmet more often, but he hadn't thought he'd need one to sit in a market.

Alistair couldn't ever remember fighting someone who was trying to kill him when he didn't want to kill them, too. It was incredibly difficult. Well, he _wanted_ to kill her, but it would be a bad idea.

The people in the market had all pulled back to a safe distance. Unfortunately, they hadn't taken their goods with them. As Alistair and Ser Cauthrien fought, the destruction was fairly dramatic, and Alistair knew that it was these were people's livelihoods that were being dashed to the ground, broken, and trampled.

He stepped backwards to avoid a swing of Ser Cauthrien's sword and right into a crate of lettuce, falling on his back. Ser Cauthrien swung her blade up to take off his head, but it got tangled in a canopy on her back swing. Scrambling to his feet, Alistair drove his shield into her and she knocked over an entire stall of ceramics.

This wasn't going to end well for him, if he didn't find a way to immobilize her, and she wasn't giving him enough time to use a smite, fighting close and fast.

He looked around the tables and stalls. Putting one hand on a table, he leapt over it, sheathed his sword, and grabbed a maul from the weapons display.

Alistair turned back to Ser Cauthrien to see her on the table in front of him, bringing her sword down toward his neck.

"Maker!" He reeled back, turning, so that her blade hit his shoulder, and swung the maul into her legs. She fell to the ground and he swung again, trying to land a blow on her helmet that was hard enough to knock her out, but not hard enough to kill her.

It was too fine a line for comfort, but she was down, unconscious, and still breathing.

Alistair made his way through upturned tables, broken merchandise, and trampled produce. Once he'd reached the crowd, he pulled out his purse and started handing sovereigns to merchants.

He didn't know whose wares had been destroyed. He didn't know what they were worth. He just gave some gold to each of them, and if they still looked angry, he gave them some more. His purse was close to empty when he was done. Alistair wondered if he'd be living on Anders's crusts, after all.

Then he saw a couple of town guards looking at him. They were talking, and he was willing to bet it was about him. Walking over, Alistair said, "Sorry about the trouble." He handed each a sovereign.

One of them smiled. "What trouble? We were never here, were we, Ralf?"

Ralf flipped the sovereign into the air and caught it. "Nope. Never were. That sounded like politics, and I've no interest in getting caught up in that." He looked at Alistair, squinting. "You're supposed to be dead."

"I've been getting that a lot, lately." And that was what he got for announcing his identity to a crowded market in a fit of pique. Maker's breath, it was a good thing they wouldn't be staying in South Reach. That would get old fast.

The two guards were headed out of the market square when the first one stopped, and turned back. "Did the queen really bring you back?"

"You heard that?"

"Everyone heard that."

"Ah. Well…yes. She did—but that part's a secret."

The guard laughed. "Not any more." He turned away again and followed the other guard away from the market.

Oh…blast. This may not have been what Lis and Leliana had in mind when they wanted people talking about him and Anora, and he was certain that wrecking a market while fighting one of Anora's people wasn't anything they'd think was a positive development.

Alistair went toward the main gate. He'd have to go to the last tavern the others planned on visiting, and hope they were there. He needed to get out of South Reach before Ser Cauthrien woke.

A loud muttering rose from the crowd.

Alistair turned and saw Ser Cauthrien pulling herself to her feet, propped up by her sword. Blood trickled down her face from under her helmet. She raised the blade again, and started toward him. Maker, she was tough!

He pulled his arms in, then spread them wide, smiting Ser Cauthrien with all the will at his disposal. Light crashed down, sending debris from the battle into the air, and knocking Ser Cauthrien clear of the stalls. She tried to get up again, but collapsed back to the ground.

The crowd stared at him, awe on their faces.

Okay, now it was really time to get out of South Reach.

* * *

This was the third tavern they'd been to, and Lis thought things were going well. They hadn't even needed to start the gossip themselves in this one. The story of the fight with the bandits in Lothering was already going around the room. All they had to do was put Alistair's name to it with a few well chosen words. When Leliana had started her song about Uldred and the abominations, some people then put Alistair's name to it without any additional prodding.

Oghren was past helping by this point, although he sang along boisterously. At least he remembered to pretend that he and Anders didn't know Leliana or Lis.

Near the end of her performance, Leliana sang a poignant and totally false ballad of how Alistair had returned to Ferelden to swear his services to the queen, handing her his sword, bowing his noble head, and saying that all he desired was to serve her and Ferelden, and that if that could not be, to kill him then and there.

Ha! 'Noble head….' When Alistair heard that, he'd have a conniption. Andraste's ass, Leliana was really wiggling the bait. In the other taverns, she seemed more concerned with making Alistair look like a brave protector, and had been content to let Lis, Oghren and Anders drop tidbits about his loyalty to Anora. She must have decided that wasn't working well enough.

The ballad went on to praise Anora—her golden beauty, diplomatic brilliance, and almost divine mercy in sparing Alistair, now her loyal and devoted servant. Lis managed not to snicker.

When Leliana was done singing, she and Lis decided it was time to eat, and ordered the stew that was the special of the day. It was hot and good, and the fresh bread that came with it was even better. The only sign that food was less plentiful than it should be was the very minimal amount of meat in the stew and the large amount of fairly old parsnip.

Lis blew on a spoonful of stew to cool it off and looked at Leliana. "Did Alistair really kill the Witch of the Wilds?"

"He did." Leliana tore off a hunk of the bread and dipped it in her stew. "I left out the parts about Wynne, Kallian, and I fighting—we were there, too. It was difficult, and took all of us, but Alistair got the killing blow. That part was just as I described it."

She swallowed and said, "He wasn't completely happy about us being there. Alistair didn't think we should take Morrigan's word so easily—they hated each other—but he didn't trust Flemeth any more than Morrigan, and if even a fraction of the tales about her have merit…. Well, Kallian was able to persuade him that it was the right thing to do. I don't suppose we'll ever know if that is true. Whatever the case, it makes a very—"

The door burst open and Alistair entered the tavern. He looked around with an air of urgency.

Lis lifted a hand and he came over to their table, moving quickly. He seemed out of breath.

Leaning forward, he put his hands on the table and whispered, "We have to go now."

"Is something wrong, Alistair?"

"Uh…yes. Ser Cauthrien saw me at the market. She didn't seem to know that Anora brought me back, or that her order for my death had been rescinded. I don't know what that means. Also…." He looked around then bent closer. "I kind of wrecked the market."

"You wrecked the market?"

"Well, a lot of it. I used most of my gold to pay off the merchants and the guards. But it wasn't just me. Ser Cauthrien had a hand in that, too. She doesn't listen very well.

"She was unconscious when I left, but I don't think that will last long. We should go. Now." Alistair straightened and took a step toward the door. "I'd rather not kill her, and that's what will happen if we stay. That or she'll kill me."

Lis dropped her spoon into the bowl. "Drat. This was good stew." She looked at Leliana, pushed her chair back, and stood. "Let's go then."

They collected Anders and Oghren, and made their way out of town, not stopping until they were a long distance from South Reach, then left the road to eat. Everyone's midday meal had been interrupted, and they were all hungry.

Oghren scowled at Alistair and waved a piece of dry bread. "Bad enough that we had to leave a good meal to go to waste, but we don't even have fresh bread for the road because you couldn't kill one woman. By the Stone, what's wrong with you, Warden?"

"Thanks for the 'Warden,' Oghren, but I can't help but wonder why you have such an aversion to my name. I think it's quite a nice name. In any case, I was trying not to kill her. That's challenging when someone is waving a giant sword in your face. The question here is why didn't she know that the order for my death is no longer in effect?

Alistair frowned at his stale bread, wondering how much more danger he might be in than he'd thought. "She was wearing Gwaren armor—Gwaren's fairly remote, but Anora was supposed to make that general knowledge among her captains. That was the deal."

"Perhaps she only sent word to the garrison commanders, and others who knew you were still alive. Those must know, or we wouldn't have been able to travel as freely as we have, especially in Denerim." Leliana flicked an ant off her leg.

"Or maybe this woman—Ser Cauthrien, was it? Maybe she's on her way to Denerim and the queen planned to fill her in when she arrived. It's not like you had any reason to go all the way to Gwaren and pay her a visit." Anders looked at Alistair, arching an eyebrow. "Everything's not always an evil plot against you, is it? Maybe it was just bad luck that you ran into her when you did, and next time you see her, everything will be rainbows."

Alistair's mouth drew up on one side. "Not _always_, and the bad luck thing works, too—I'm not sure the Maker likes me much—but it will never be rainbows with Ser Cauthrien. Not with me."

"Ser Cauthrien's ignorance of the situation may well have been the result of an innocent mistake, but we should keep all the possibilities in mind." Leliana frowned. "It's possible that Anora didn't want to publicly withdraw an order that she believes she may have to reinstate, or plans to. It would make her appear weak to vacillate so."

"I know which I think it is, but maybe that's just me." Alistair threw the rest of his meal toward a tree in which a flock of small birds were chirping noisily. "This doesn't change anything, not really. Avernus still needs to be stopped, as does Kallian's support of him and anyone like him. I'd better stay out of Denerim, though, just for caution's sake. Even if Anora isn't in the process of stabbing me in the back, there may be others who are as much in the dark as Ser Cauthrien."

"We still need to go to Denerim, Alistair. Our plan is even more important now, and opinion in Denerim carries more weight than opinion in towns and villages." Picking up the remains of their meal, Leliana shot him a glance. "And we should hurry. Ser Cauthrien will likely want to report to Anora before returning to Gwaren, even if she didn't plan to before. No doubt she thinks you're here for some nefarious purpose. We don't want to run into her on the road, or at the gates of Denerim."

Alistair shook his head. "No, we really don't. There'll be no hope of a good ending with Anora if I start killing her people." He gave a little smile. "Besides, I don't have enough gold left to pay for the damages. Next time she'll probably attack me somewhere even more breakable."

Anders raised an eyebrow and tossed him a crust.

"Funny." Alistair raised a hand. "Yes, yes, you all told me so."

"Alistair and I can stay outside the gates. The rest of you go in to buy supplies and create fond feelings." Lis stood, then shook her head. "No…Ser Cauthrien…." She looked at Alistair. "How about that big oak just off the highway, a little past Denerim?"

"The one where Oghren relieved himself?" He nodded. "Sounds good. We all know where that is."

"Heh, I marked our territory."

"Yes, handy. It's just too bad that you did it in front of those Chantry sisters." Alistair got to his feet. "If we have to leave that location for some reason, we'll check back at dusk, then dawn, if need be." He picked up his pack. "Let's go—it will take over five days to get to Denerim at our normal pace. I think we'd better plan on walking faster, for longer, or both."


	20. Chapter 20

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story (all chapters posted) is on my profile page.

* * *

It took them a little over four days to reach Denerim, arriving early on the fifth day. They'd walked about a couple hours longer per day than they normally would, making for very long days, and had kept their pace more brisk than was comfortable.

By the time she and Alistair left the others at the gates, and made their way down the ramp to the oak where they'd chosen to meet the rest of the group, Lis was glad to stop. Her feet were ached, her legs were burning, and she felt very sorry for soldiers for whom such forced marches were a regular part of life. By the Black City, she was tired!

When they reached the tree, Alistair looked at her and smiled, his eyes crinkling in that way she liked to see, and gestured to a log a short distance from the path. Yes, that was a much better place to sit than at the base of a tree that might be a 'landmark' for many travelers. Lis followed him through the trees, sinking down onto the log with a sigh of relief.

For a while, she was content to just be sitting, but as time passed, Lis started to feel strangely awkward. She searched for something to say, unaccountably nervous. "Well…."

Alistair looked up through the canopy of trees. "It's a nice day, isn't it?

"Good thing we're not waiting in the rain."

"Yes…." Alistair shifted his weight on the log, and glanced at her before looking back to the highway. He slapped at an insect.

The silence grew uncomfortable, but Lis thought that all the things that were in her mind to say, or ask, would have been more uncomfortable than the silence. The fact that they were completely alone for the first time in their travels seemed to demand that she make use of the opportunity to talk. She debated the wisdom of that with herself and cursed herself for a coward.

Lifting a foot, Alistair said, "I think I have a blister."

"I have more than one, I'm sure."

Lis kicked at the dirt beneath her feet as the silence stretched between them, then words rushed out. "Alistair, do you really think I'm a bossy know-it-all?" Sod it! Why had she said that? She squeezed her eyes shut. And just to make things even better, he wasn't saying anything, blast it!

Lis opened her eyes and looked at Alistair. He was staring at her.

"Have you been thinking that this whole time? Maker, no! I don't think that!"

"You didn't deny it."

"Well, you didn't deny that you thought I had the awareness of a dead fish." His eyebrows pulled together. "Uh…you didn't mean that, either, right?"

"No, I didn't mean it. I was just…mad."

"I was mad, too, but mostly because you were making me talk about something I didn't want to. And…I don't think anyone has ever gotten angry with me for not thinking well enough of myself. It was…different."

Raising her eyebrow, Lis gave him a little smile. "I don't think anyone has ever yelled at me for trying to say nice things, either, but I guess I wasn't saying them very well."

"No." Alistair shook his head. "You just made me see a truth I didn't want to see. I…." He looked at her for a moment, pulled off his gauntlets, and opened his pack, taking out something wrapped in cloth. "I wasn't sure whether I should give this to you. I felt bad about yelling, and when I saw this, I thought you might like it, but…."

He handed her the bundle, then looked away, running a hand through his hair.

Lis pulled back the cloth, revealing the small statue. "Oh…. It's beautiful, Alistair!" She held it up, admiring the craftsmanship. "Look at its expression! I almost fear it will bite me!"

Putting the statue back on the cloth in her lap with great care, she looked at Alistair, smiling widely. "I love it. It's a wonderful gift." Lis tilted her head. "Why didn't you think you should give it to me?"

"Uh…." Alistair looked at her, one hand rubbing his chin. "Those statues in the chest at Soldier's Peak—they were gifts from Kallian. When I was looking through that chest, I realized…well, she gave me all of them after arguments, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't because she regretted fighting. I think it was to…keep me in line. To manipulate me. I just didn't want you to think I was doing the same thing."

Lis tried to school her expression into something that didn't show the anger that went through her, her fingers tightening on the little griffon until she forced herself to let go, lest she damage it.

Andraste's ass, Kallian was certainly a fine piece of work. She's even managed to taint the giving of gifts. Everything Lis found out about Kallian made her loathe the woman more.

"I would never think that, Alistair. Not of you." She reached out and squeezed his hand—not that he'd really feel it through his gauntlet. "Yell until I concede, that you would do, but cynical manipulation? No, never."

He gave her a sideways glance, a smile tugging at his lips. "That's good, right?"

Grinning, Lis said, "Yes, that's good—at least it is to me. I'm likely to do the same thing back. And if I ever give you a gift, it won't be because I want anything from you. Not anything like that."

Alistair's eyebrow twitched upward. "Nothing like that? What would you be wanting, then?"

"Oh, you'll just have to wait until I give you a gift to—"

A cry for help came from the highway, the shrill voice of a woman in utter panic. It sounded like it was some distance away, so Lis grabbed her pack, carefully putting her gift inside before pulling it onto her back.

By the time she stood, Alistair was ready and waiting. They ran up the stairs and down the highway toward Denerim, arriving at a scene of disaster a few minutes later.

An ox cart had tipped over, either poorly loaded, or through some misdeed of the two oxen that had pulled it. Goods were scattered across the highway, and the poor creatures were tangled in their harness. One was still standing, but the other was on the ground, panicked to the point of doing itself injury and unable to rise.

Lis pulled out her sword and cut the leather that imprisoned it, careful not to hurt the beast, and to avoid hooves. Once it was free and had struggled to its feet, she led both to the side of the highway and tied them to the rail.

Only then did she get a chance to see what other damage had been done.

The woman whose cries had summoned them stood on the far side of the wagon, sobbing loudly, two shrieking children clutching her skirts.

Walking around the cart, Lis feared what she would see on the other side.

It was a man, pinned beneath the cart, and badly injured, it would seem. He was very pale, and sweat covered his brow.

Alistair was trying to lift the cart enough to free him, but to no avail. He looked at her. There was a touch of panic in his eyes, but she thought that had more to do with the incessant and shrill wailing of the children, whose father this must be, than with his efforts to help the man. He had to shout to be heard over their noise. "Lis, we need healing potions, and then we'll have to figure out how to lift this cart."

A crowd was starting to gather, travelers stopping to witness a tragedy in progress, as people will do. A few carts on both sides of the wreck had no choice, as their way was entirely blocked.

Lis opened her pack, grabbed some healing supplies, and went back up to Alistair and the wounded man.

Dropping to her knees, she lifted the man's head, and held a strong healing potion to his lips. He was able to drink, and looked better by the time he'd finished the potion. Color returned to his face, and his skin felt less clammy.

Looking at Alistair, Lis raised her voice to be heard. "I can't hear myself think, blast it!"

She took the woman by the elbow and led her out of view of her husband's suffering. "Please—wait here. We'll help your husband, but you need to calm your children. We can barely hear each other to do the work we need to do. It doesn't help them to see you so distressed."

The woman calmed herself with visible effort, gasping down sobs, and nodded. She crouched down beside the children, speaking softly.

When Lis reached Alistair again, all was silent, except for the murmuring of the crowd.

He was talking to the man on the ground. "We're going to get something to lift the wagon, but don't worry, we'll be right back, okay?" Alistair patted him on the shoulder then looked up, letting out a breath. "Andraste's mercy, that's a relief—thanks, Lis. Crying children terrify me."

Pushing himself off the ground, he said, "Let's see if any of these people have something we can use as a lever."

As they moved through the crowd toward the carts behind, Lis could hear bits and pieces of conversation.

"That's him. They said he was a handsome fellow with fancy armor, all shiny and such. Those bandits didn't know what hit them. They say that he…"

"…Maric's bastard—the apple doesn't fall far, does it? Everyone in Redcliffe was amazed when he turned up alive."

Alistair's pace sped up.

"…told her he had a right to the name, then the two of them wrecked the whole market in a huge battle, but he gave my cousin enough gold to…"

His head dropped forward, and his face could get no redder. He was blushing right to the tips of his ears.

"…then he carried the last of the orphans out of the fire in the nick of time…"

The comment about the orphans made him stop in his tracks. Alistair turned to Lis, looking more than a little horrified. "Maker's blood, Lis! Orphans!"

She took his arm and kept them moving toward the carts. "This is a good thing, Alistair. I'm sure it doesn't feel like it, but it is."

They went from cart to cart asking what people had that might be of use, eventually finding one full of salvage, which included some scrap lumber. Most of the pieces were too short or thin to be of use, but they took three pieces that suited their purpose.

Lis tried to pay the man a few coppers for the wood, since they were the best of a poor lot, but he would have none of it.

Shaking his head, the man said, "I'd be some kind of greedy bastard if I didn't help out with something like this, now wouldn't I? Andraste bless you, sers, for helping the poor fellow. Go on, you take it."

They pushed their way back through the gossiping crowd, and put the timber under the cart, one at each end, and one beside the trapped man.

Lis checked the man's condition, giving him a smile, while Alistair bent to pull some crates out of the way. Now they were ready.

Alistair lifted a finger for her to wait a moment, and crossed the highway to the crowd. Pointing to five of the bystanders—large, strong men—he waved a hand toward the cart. "We need some help here. Come on."

One of them shook his head, muttering something about being in a hurry. Alistair grabbed him, pushing him toward the cart. "This isn't something you say 'no' to. Let's go." He turned to Lis. "We'll lift, and you can pull him out."

Nodding, she crouched beside the man and hooked her arms under his, ready to pull when the time was right.

Alistair went to the middle timber, joining the man he'd conscripted involuntarily, and glanced at men waiting at each end of the cart. "We'll lift on three. One…two…_three!_"

The cart rose easily with so many backs applied to the effort, and Lis was able to pull the injured man clear of the wreck.

Once the cart was high enough, the men dropped their makeshift levers and pushed it up the rest of the way. It settled onto its wheels, and the crowd gave a cheer.

A couple of people came forward to help the man who'd been freed to his feet, clapping him on the back. His family rushed to him, the children clutching his legs, and his wife throwing her arms around his neck.

The men Alistair had selected from the crowd seemed to warm to their role, even the one who'd been given no choice, and they pushed the damaged cart to the side of the highway, then stowed the spilled goods back inside. Within a few minutes, the highway was open again.

Alistair looked at Lis and grinned.

The man they'd rescued approached. "Maker's breath, I thought I was on my way to the Fade. I can't thank you enough. My name is Cordell, and if you're ever in the need for fine Orlesian fabrics, you come to me and I'll do you right. My shop is right near the gates." His gaze went to each of them. "Who can I say saved me? I see one you carries a Cousland shield…."

"We were glad to help." Lis gestured to Alistair and then herself. "This is Alistair, and I'm Lis—Elissa, that is."

A voice rose from the crowd. "That's Elissa Cousland, that is. I'm from Highever, so I know. And Alistair Theirin, from what they say!"

"I just go by 'Alistair,' really."

"Well, whatever you go by, I'm grateful. First time nobles ever did a blasted thing for me, and for it to be a Theirin and a Cousland…well, that's something." Cordell shook his head.

Lis noticed that Cordell was rubbing his stomach. The potion probably hadn't been quite enough. "A friend of ours, a mage, is at a tavern in Denerim. You should go see him. Tell him that Lis and Alistair sent you, and there won't be a charge. He'll be at The Boar's Head, The Red Dragon, or The Drunken Nug."

"I thank you, again, most kindly. I'll do that straight away. Things don't feel quite right."

Questions started coming from the crowd—about Flemeth, about the siege of Redcliffe, about bandits, Ser Cauthrien, the fact that he wasn't dead, and non-existent orphans.

Bending toward Lis, Alistair asked, "Can we go now? Please?"

Nodding, Lis gave him a smile. Poor Alistair, their plan to make him a knightly servant of the queen might help him, but she wished he didn't hate it so.

They turned away from the crowd, picked up their packs, and started back up the highway toward the exit by the oak.

The approach to Denerim was always busy, but today seemed more than usually so, and much busier than it had been that morning. Lis wondered if there was some event in the city that she didn't know about, or a holiday that had slipped her mind. There were carts of hauled goods, merchant caravans, and travelers of all kinds. It was a good thing they'd been able to move the tipped cart, as well as help Cordell.

It was a lively scene, almost like a fair. There was even a juggler doing tricks for coins from the passersby. Lis and Alistair stopped to watch for a while before dropping a coin in his bowl and moving on.

They were almost back to the stairs when a small, dark-haired boy ran ahead of his family, and stopped in front of them, brandishing a wooden sword. "I am the mighty Ser Dustin! Fear me, abominations! I will smite thee!" He swung the little sword through the air.

Lis heard Alistair choke back a laugh. "If only smiting abominations was really that fun. I'd be a very happy man."

"Dustin, leave those people alone. What did I tell you about smiting people?" The boy's mother gave them an apologetic smile.

Dustin turned back to face her. "Um, not to…. But I was just—"

"No 'just' anything, young man. You get back here."

The boy scowled, but ran back to his mother.

He was so like Oren.

Oren had wanted to be a warrior. This boy would, Andraste willing, but Oren would never be anything. Not a warrior, not a father, not the teyrn that he'd been destined to be.

She was supposed to be the warrior, but she hadn't been able to save Oren. She hadn't been able to save his mother, or her parents. Lis's throat tightened and she blinked back tears. All these years later, and the grief of it could still catch her unawares, as though it was fresh.

"Lis?"

There was concern in Alistair's voice, but Lis couldn't stop watching as the boy and his family passed by. Watching, remembering….

Alistair put a hand on her shoulder. "Lis. What is it? Tell me."

She gave him a quick glance, avoiding his gaze. "He reminded me of Oren"

"Oren…. Your nephew. Oh." Alistair took her arm, leading her to the top of the ramp. He sat and pulled her down beside him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Lis shook her head. "Not here, not right now…." She leaned against him, and he put his arm around her shoulder.

"Anytime—you know that, right?"

She reached up and put her hand on his, where it rested on her shoulder. "I know, and I appreciate it, Alistair."

They stayed there on the ramp and Alistair told her stories of his early days as a templar, with an emphasis on things that went awry, both for himself and others. She knew he was trying to distract her from her thoughts, which he did, although she doubted the veracity of the tales. Some of had already stretched credibility when he launched into a story about smiting blueberry pies at a feast, casting exploding fruit on the people he most disliked.

Lis wondered if he didn't believe she could be interested in the real details of his life, which was completely untrue, or if he simply couldn't resist going for a laugh where ever possible. Both were equally likely, and she thought it was probably a combination of the two.

In any case, whether her thoughts were of the stories, or the workings of Alistair's mind, they moved away from the murder of her family. The sadness had passed, and she was very content to be spending time with Alistair by the time she heard the rest of their group approaching.

They were hours earlier than expected.

From the road above, she could hear Anders. "So…what? You think they'll be frolicking under the oak in their birthday suits, in full view of the Highway?"

"All I'm saying is it would be sodding stupid waste of a—" Oghren came into view and saw them. "Bah."

Anders appeared behind him, first looking at Lis and Alistair, and then at Oghren. He put out a hand.

Oghren scowled. "They're touching. For them, that's practically lust and thrust. That's got to count for something."

"No, that isn't what you were talking about at all. You were most specific, and this doesn't fit any of your charming analogies. I win."

"Ehh, all right." Oghren took a silver from his pouch and handed it to Anders.

Andraste's ass, it was amazing what you could get used to. Oghren was a sure cure for sensitivity, although it didn't seem to have worked for Alistair.

"Gah!" He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes then pulled them away sharply, turning toward Oghren and Anders. "You…_bet_ on us? About that?" Ha shot a glance toward Lis, looking utterly mortified.

"It's all right, Alistair." Lis put a hand on his arm.

"No, it really isn't."

"Well, I didn't so much bet as take Oghren's money when he offered to give it to me." Anders shrugged.

Lis saw Leliana walking up behind them. She was moving slowly, and her brow was creased. "Leliana? How did it go? You're back early."

"Well, I'm not sure how to answer that, I'm afraid." Leliana sank down beside them. "They were receptive to my songs, and once again we had no need to spread stories. They were already circulating. The bandits in Lothering, fighting the undead at Redcliffe, the fight in the market at South Reach—and some that seemed entirely made up." Leliana's mouth pulled up to one side, and she looked at Alistair. "Unless you really saved a litter of mabari puppies from drowning, beating the perpetrator within an inch of his life?"

Alistair shook his head. "No, I can't say that I have. Apparently, I also saved orphans from a fiery death, just so you know."

"When that man you sent, Cordell, came in to be healed, announcing that he's been rescued from a cart accident by a Cousland and a Theirin, and 'don't that just beat all,' there didn't seem to be a soul in the tavern who hadn't heard Alistair's name."

Leliana rubbed her forehead. "These things normally have a predictable rhythm. It can take months to build to a point that rumors start spreading by themselves. You have time to control and adjust the message. By the time it becomes widespread, you can make sure it's pointed where you want it, like an arrow.

"But with this…. I am becoming concerned. This is too fast. It's like an avalanche, already unstoppable and uncontrolled. Alistair is becoming a folk hero, the talk of the taverns, and is being held up as different from the rest of the nobility. There is entirely too much comparison to Maric for my comfort."

Oh, Maker! Lis felt a surge of panic. This whole thing was her idea. What had she done?

Alistair frowned at Leliana. "I don't understand. I thought this was what you wanted, for them to talk about me." He looked at Lis, and his eyebrows rose. "Why are you looking like that? Please stop…I'm not getting a good feeling about this at all."

"We wanted them to think of you as someone like Bann Teagan, Alistair, not…your father. Well-liked and respected, but not a hero who could change their world. We wanted them to see you as the queen's most loyal supporter, acting for her glory—not your own." Lis's stomach turned as she imagined Anora's reaction to what she'd set in motion. "This could make Anora see you as a greater threat than before."

Leliana nodded. "They don't seem to be hearing the part about Anora at all, or are choosing to ignore it." She looked down at her hands. "And there's worse." She glanced at Alistair. "I heard one man saying that things would be better if you were king. The people he said it to didn't disagree."

"Oh, that's not good. Maker's blood…." Alistair stood, moving down to the landing halfway down the ramp and staring into the forest below.

"So what went wrong?" Anders sat beside Leliana. "Maybe we can fix it."

Deep lines marred Leliana's brow. "I don't know. We may have underestimated the level of discontent. Or the need for a hero to take their attention from the hardships caused by the Blight, one they believe can change their lot. I just don't know, but even if I did, I don't think there's anything we can do now."

Anders put a hand on Leliana's shoulder. "It sounds like it would have happened anyway. We didn't do enough to cause it. A few songs sung in two cities? A little gossip in a few taverns? That's nothing, really."

"That's why I don't understand it. It shouldn't have gone this far." Leliana wrapped her arms around herself as though chilled. "I fear we have made things worse."

She looked at Lis, who saw her own fear reflected in Leliana's eyes.

"You said the people were coming up with these things by themselves, for the most part, so what did you really do?" Anders rose and moved down the ramp so he was in front of them, his gaze going first to Leliana and then to Lis.

Lis answered him. "The stories, yes, but they wouldn't have a name to put to them, if it wasn't for us—for me. Most didn't know it was Alistair doing these things, and those who did had no idea that Maric was his father, only the people in Redcliffe. This was my idea, and it's my fault."

Turning back to them, Alistair came back up the ramp and crouched in front of Lis. He took her hands. "Stop that. You were trying to keep Eamon from making a stupid promise that his honor would demand that he keep once it was made. Whatever happens, it's better than letting Eamon start a hopeless rebellion, and it was a better idea than I had—which was none."

He gave her hands a squeeze then stood and walked back down the ramp. "Come on, it's time to go to Amaranthine and finish this."


	21. Chapter 21

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story (all chapters posted) is on my profile page. 

* * *

Alistair was pretty sure that Lis didn't stop worrying just because he'd asked. Well, not asked, 'told,' and to stop blaming herself, not to stop worrying. That worked about as well as trying to tell Lis to do anything. But then, you really couldn't control anything that went on in people's heads, and it would be bad if you could.

Worrying, or blaming herself, Lis was very quiet on the journey to Amaranthine, and that was unlike her.

And yes, the way their plan had gone awry worried him, too, but not as much as what Lis might do should Anora react the way he suspected she would. It's not like anything was that very different for him. The situation had never been good.

He tried to tell himself that Anora might not notice the chatter about his activities, she might not find out that he'd announced that she'd brought him back herself, that gratitude for his help might outweigh the threat of his continued existence—if he promised very, very nicely to be behave.

But he knew those things weren't likely. And he knew Lis would blame herself. He just didn't know what to do about it.

He tried to put what might happen to him out of his mind. Kallian and Avernus were what he needed to be thinking about right now, not a future that had never been a beacon of hope.

They'd already been to the Deep Roads entrance in the Knotwood Hills, and it seemed unlikely that Kallian would have a blood mage experimenting on people at the Vigil. Alistair decided the abandoned silverite mine in the Wending Wood was their best bet. The Architect had found it a good place to do all manner of disturbing things, perhaps Avernus would as well.

After they made camp in the Wending Wood, setting up their tents, and making a late dinner, Alistair opened a bottle of wine that Leliana had bought in Denerim, and gathered everyone together.

"Tell us about the silverite mine, Anders."

"Well, the most important thing to know is that we can't get in through the main entrance. It's blocked. We were trapped there by the Architect and he put a sleep spell on us so he could steal our blood—not everyone's of course, just those who were Wardens."

"Piss and damnation!" Lis scowled and her fist pounded her leg hard enough to make Alistair wince. "All this stealing of blood is…bah! More people need to die for that than do."

"That sounds rather personal." Anders tilted his head and looked at Lis.

Alistair shook his head. "Leave it, Anders."

Glancing at him, Anders raised his eyebrows. "Right...back to the mine it is…. We'll have to get in through the back entrance. That leads to a couple of surprisingly grand rooms—ruins of some earlier structure, I'd guess.

"The first is huge, like an arena. It has a balcony in it that could be used by archers or mages, if they've decided to guard the entrance. There's a passage behind it, maybe to the Deep Roads, but the Architect closed the entrance. We didn't find another, so I don't know how they'd get up there.

"The second is just a glorified staircase leading into that room, but there are platforms on either side where attackers could be waiting, with alcoves beneath."

Anders picked up a piece of kindling and started sketching a rough map in the dirt. He pointed at two small rooms just past the staircase. "If the blood mage is living there, this is probably where. It's where the Architect and his tainted lady friends lived."

"Oh, I soooo don't want to know." Alistair shifted sideways, giving Anders more room to draw. "What's all that?"

"I think it was the actual mine, a whole bunch of caves and tunnels. They were full of darkspawn when we were there. And this…" Anders drew another section on the top left of his map. "…is the Architect's research area—if you want to dignify it with that name." He looked at Alistair. "If there's something going on down there, that's where we'll find out what it is."

"Of course, the living quarters and the work area are on opposite sides of the blasted mine—typical." Alistair sighed. "I suppose we'd have to search the whole thing, anyway." Refilling everyone's cups, he said, "Tomorrow, we go to the mine, then."

Alistair stood and walked away from the fire. This could all be over very soon. With any luck, Avernus would be dead, and Kallian…well, he'd probably have to kill her, too. He knew that. What he didn't know was how he felt about it—and that was confusing in itself.

It wasn't that he had any kind of feelings left for her. She's betrayed him more than once. She's tried to kill him in the most cold-blooded way he could imagine. And he'd spent most of the last three years wanting to kill her a good bit of the time. But the idea of really doing it was unsettling, even so.

He turned back to the fire and looked at Lis. She was listening something Anders and Leliana were talking about, her expression intent.

Anything could happen tomorrow. He could die. Any of them could. Lis…no, not unless he died first, not if there was anything he could do to stop it.

If they survived, if Kallian and Avernus were both dealt with…he'd have to go to Denerim to report to Anora. Anything could happen then, too.

His thoughts chased each other like a mabari pup chasing its tail, circling around and around. Before he knew it, he'd walked back to the fire with the urgency of a man pursued, and was staring down at Lis, feeling a little frantic.

She looked up at him.

Now he had to say something, or she'd think he was a lunatic. "Lis…. Uh, could we talk for a minute?"

"Certainly, Alistair." Lis rose to her feet. "Is everything all right? You look a little…."

"No, it's fine. I'm fine. Everything is—Maker!" Alistair took a breath, and then waved a hand toward the edge of camp. "Can we just…?" He led them into the woods until the fire was no longer in sight, out from view, and more importantly, earshot. An audience was the last thing he wanted.

When they were entirely alone and some distance away, he stopped and turned to Lis. "This could all be over soon, and I don't know what will happen, so there's something I need to say."

He looked away from her, into the trees. "I haven't really told you about what happened after the Landsmeet, about the Free Marches, or Orlais. It's not something I'm proud of, but I was in a very dark place. I…had no hope. I didn't believe that would ever change."

Alistair faced her again, stepping toward her, hoping she could see how very much he meant this. "You changed that, Lis. You gave me hope. I need you to know that, no matter what happens, it was worth it. Absolutely worth it." He brushed his fingers across her cheek. "This might not end the way I'd like, and if that happens, I don't want you blaming yourself. Nothing about this is—"

"Alistair—"

He raised his hands "No, wait. Let me finish." Taking a breath, he tried to steady his nerves. He wanted to say this right. It might be his only chance. "I've come to…care about you—very much, and those aren't feelings I thought were possible, either. I…shouldn't be saying anything. It's not fair for me to bring it up, given my situation, but I wanted you to know—just in case."

"In case…?"

"In case I don't…." Alistair waved a hand. "Hope and certainty are two different things. That's why I can't…. I won't ask if you feel the same, because I have nothing to offer you as things stand, not even the certainty that I'll still be…in Ferelden by the end of the week, but if I am, if it turns out that—"

Lis shook her head.

"Oh. I thought you might…okay." He started to turn away, his heart sinking like a stone.

"Alistair!" Lis grabbed his arm and pulled until he turned back to face her. "I'm shaking my head because it's ridiculous that you think you have nothing to offer, not because I don't care about you!" She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned close to give him a long, slow kiss that left his heart pounding.

Drawing back just enough to speak, her breath warm on his cheek, she said, "Nothing is ever certain, as we both well know too well. I'm not going to bide my time until you've decided things are perfect enough, lest I wait forever."

She kissed him again, her lips soft, but moving against his with an urgency that echoed everything that Alistair felt for her. He lost all capacity to resist. He didn't know what the right thing was anymore, and Maker help him, he didn't care. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her to him and let that kiss be the only thing that mattered.

When Lis lifted her lips again, his breath was ragged, and his self-control was all but gone.

She spoke, her voice uneven. "I'm concerned about Anders."

What? Lis wanted to talk about Anders now? That was…weird. And probably not good. "Anders?"

Her mouth was moving along his neck, his jaw, oh, Maker's mercy, his ear….

"He doesn't have a tent. He might catch cold. I think you should give him yours."

"Mine? But where…_oh_." He smiled. "Right. I'll do that…in just a…."Alistair kissed her again, his fingers slipping into the long dark hair that he seemed to have freed from its usual confines, his lips moving downward until he was stopped by her armor.

"Oh…Maker…. Alistair, if we don't go back now, I'm going to start shedding armor right here and I don't fancy having bits of forest poking me in the bum."

Lifting his lips from the smooth skin of her neck, Alistair grinned. "Your desire is my command." Grabbing her hand, he pulled her back to the path and they hurried back toward the camp hand in hand, slowing only when the fire's light became visible through the trees.

As they reached the edge of the clearing, that warm glow fell on Lis's face. It touched her smiling lips and tousled hair. Her eyes shone as she gazed at him with an expression that made everything he'd gone through worthwhile, if that's what it took to bring him to this place and time.

His heart swelled. Alistair was both speechless and filled with a need to act on the joy that overwhelmed him. He pulled Lis to him, enveloping her in a tight hug, burying his face in her hair.

When he pulled back, there was a question in the lift of her eyebrows, although she said nothing.

"Just congratulating myself on being alive." Touching her cheek, he ignored a sudden flutter of nerves and said, "I love you, Lis."

She covered his hand with her own. "I love you, too, Alistair. Don't ever doubt it or think that will change." Smiling, she took his hand again and drew him into the clearing. "Come on. Let's go give away your tent."

All eyes were on them as they approached the fire. A little smile played on Leliana's lips. Oghren smirked, but was mercifully silent.

Anders lifted an eyebrow and smiled. "Way to go, Templar-King."

"Uh…my tent…. You can have it."

Anders looked at Lis, his smile widening. "Sure you don't want to wait until you find out if his feet smell or he drools on the pillow? Give it a trial run, as it were?"

Lis gave Alistair's hand a squeeze. "I'll be in the tent."

"Coward." His hand tightened on hers before he let go, smiling. "I'll just get my things."

Ducking into his tent, now Anders's, Alistair slung his weapons on his back, grabbed his pack, bedroll and spare armor, then carried the unwieldy armful across the camp. He dropped the bedroll twice and the breastplate once. Two trips would have been much easier, but there was snickering from the campfire and Oghren was talking. Whatever he was saying, Alistair knew he didn't want to hear it.

Lis heard him coming and pushed open the tent flap, reaching out to take the splintmail and drag it inside. She'd stowed it on one side of the tent, next to her plate, which she'd already removed, leaving herself clad in a blue gambeson and buckskin pants. She looked beautiful—and touchably unarmored.

He handed her his sword and shield then pushed the pack into the tent ahead of him, crouching to get through the entrance. Nodding to the pack, he asked, "Where do you want this?"

"Anywhere you like, Alistair. This is our tent, not mine." Lis grinned. "Of course, if I were to make a _suggestion_, I'd say…there." She pointed to an empty space near her own pack.

"Right. Suggestion taken." Alistair moved the pack to the place she indicated. He knew how suggestions from women about living space went.

Once the pack was stowed away, he reached through the tent opening to grab his bedroll, pulling it inside where he could unroll it next to hers. The tent was just big enough to allow that.

Closing the entrance flap, he dropped down next to her and let out a huff of air. "Well, that was about the most blatant thing I've ever done. Am I blushing? I am, aren't I?" He leaned over to pull the last remaining pins from her hair so that it tumbled down her back, shining and dark.

Lis reached out to unfasten the straps holding his breastplate in place. "I predict more blushing in your future, then. I can think of much more blatant things we could do."

Alistair turned so she could reach the ones in back, grinning. He liked the sound of that. "Are you going to enlighten me?"

"I think I'll just show you when the occasion arises." She lifted his breastplate off and crawled past him to put it with the rest of their armor, giving him a lovely view of the backside of her buckskin pants.

Maker's breath.

Alistair leaned over to unfasten his greaves, trying to decide whether to bring up one last thing that he thought needed to be said. He didn't want to, and it probably wasn't something that Lis would want to talk about either, but….

Keeping his gaze firmly on his greaves, he forged ahead. "Lis…uh, I was wondering…well, I like Fergus, and I'm grateful to him. If we do this, is he going to feel the need to kill me? Because I'm not very good at secrets, and he's probably going to be able to tell how I feel about you—that we're…together. And I don't want to keep it a secret from Fergus. He's your brother and…my friend, I guess."

"You don't have to guess, Alistair. He is your friend." Lis lifted his hands from his greaves, and pushed him backwards so that he was lying on her bedroll, his head pillowed on a folded blanket. "What would you do if I said he'd be waiting at the gates of Highever, sword drawn, hmm?" She undid the last of the straps and pulled his greaves off, first one leg, then the other.

"Lis—"

She pulled off one of his boots, tossed it toward the pile of armor, and gave him a wide smile. "He won't be, Alistair—he likes you. He respects you. Fergus also knows that I wasn't made for a conventional life, married to some arl and running his household."

The second boot joined the first. "I love fighting and I love the freedom of the road. I'm happiest living a warrior's life. Fergus will be happy that I've found someone with whom I can share that."

Alistair had a notion that a brother's feelings about such things might not be so simple, but as Lis pulled herself toward him, her body brushing the length of his before lowering herself to him, he decided to accept what she said.

It was more because he wanted to believe it than because he thought Fergus would be thrilled that his sister had take up with a bastard prince—one with nothing to his name and a dangerous life, but he couldn't walk away. He wasn't leaving unless Lis asked him to. Maybe not even then.

As he reached up to run his hands through the soft hair hanging around her face, Lis said, "That is, if you haven't changed your mind."

He lifted his head from the improvised pillow so he could see her more clearly. She wasn't smiling. "You don't think that, do you?"

"I'm just saying that if you want to go back to your tent until you've spoken to Fergus…."

"No! That's not what I want at all." Alistair's arms tightened around her and he rolled them over so he could look down into her eyes. "This is between you and me, Lis. If you want me here, there's no where else I want to be. Not ever. I just don't want Fergus to think this is…casual, or that I'm—"

"A cad? A scoundrel? A bounder in knight's clothing?" Lis was smiling again, thank the Maker. "He's met you, Alistair, remember?"

She moved beneath him in a way that refocused his attention entirely. "Now, if honor is satisfied…." Lis unbuttoned his gambeson. "And you're staying…."

Pulling off the padded shirt, Alistair reached for Lis. "I'm not going anywhere. Not willingly."

* * *

Alistair was lying beside Lis, head leaning on one hand, when she awoke. He smiled at her—really, he just widened the smile that wouldn't go away, and a foolish one it was, he had no doubt.

She blinked at him, yawning, then stretched.

Andraste's mercy! He sincerely hoped that he got to see that every morning for the rest of his life.

"Alistair, were you watching me sleep?" She blinked again and rubbed her eyes. "That might be a little disturbing if you didn't have such a sweet expression on your face."

Okay, sweet was good, not particularly manly, but much better than foolish.

"Why are you wearing your armor—do you enjoy peculiar things you haven't yet shared with me?" She squinted at the opening to her—their—tent. "The sun is rising! You were supposed to wake me when you finished your watch!"

He sat up. "You were sleeping so soundly, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I went to sleep—without the armor. I only got dressed when I heard Anders get up, so I could ask him a couple of questions about the mine." Alistair reached out a hand to brush a tangled lock of hair back from her face. "I wanted to wake you, believe me, but I don't know what we'll face today, and I want you at your best."

"If you wanted me at my best, you would have woken me last night." Lis grinned.

Alistair lifted an eyebrow, smiling. "That couldn't be more true." He leaned down to kiss her. "Second best, then."

Rolling onto her side, Lis propped her head up as Alistair's had been a moment before. "So instead of a charming lover, I wake to find an armored man in my bed." She winked at him. "I won't ask about the sword."

"Maker! You're as bad as Oghren!"

"As heroic as you look in full plate, I think you look more heroic in nothing at all." She reached up and ran a hand along his jaw.

"I could get used to hearing things like that. Speaking of which, have I told you that I love you?"

Lis smiled and gave a little nod.

"Yes? Well, it won't do you any harm to hear it again, will it?

She shook her head and pulled herself closer, sitting up to wrap her arms around his neck. "I love you, Alistair." Giving him a kiss, Lis pulled back to look him in the eye. "And that plate you're wearing is bloody cold. I better get dressed."

Alistair spotted her gambeson at the end of the tent near her feet and handed it to her as she wiggled into her pants. That was fun to watch, too.

As she did up the last button on her gambeson, she looked up at him with a smile that was very different than the others she'd given him that morning. "Let's go kill a blood mage."


	22. Chapter 22

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story (all chapters posted) is on my profile page. 

* * *

The back way into the mine was clearly not part of its original structure. A Tevinter ruin, more like. The first room they entered was as large as the entire Proving grounds in Orzammar, seats and all. The ceiling was so high, Alistair could barely make out the carvings on the tops of the pillars supporting it.

Leliana gestured for them to wait and moved forward to disarm a cluster of traps just inside. Following behind her, Lis drew her sword and guarded Leliana's back.

This shouldn't be any different from many of the strange places he'd been on his journeys, but Alistair felt a sense of foreboding that had his stomach in knots.

This was different, because this time, it was on him. Bandit attacks, sudden unexpected fights…it didn't matter who was leading those. Everyone knew what to do. There was no need for strategy or planning. This time, it was up to him to keep everyone safe against foes who'd already killed him once, hard as that was to think about.

Maybe that was part of it. Kallian had no trouble predicting exactly what he'd do, she'd proved that, and if she had any idea he was still alive, she'd do it again.

His mind shied away from remembering the details of her attack. The panic, the helplessness, the fear and horror—the unbelievable pain.

This time, it might not be him that got hurt or killed. It might be one of the others. It might be Lis. And he'd be responsible.

They couldn't be immobilized like that again.

He was still thinking like the man who fought alone in foreign lands. Like the sole templar he'd been the last time he'd traveled Ferelden. And he was forgetting that not all mages could do the same things. "Anders, I've heard that some mages can dispel magic. Can you do that?"

Anders tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "So you finally get around to asking. I was wondering when you'd do that."

"You don't need me to tell you what to do, right? It seems like you know what you're doing and me trying to tell you how to use magic would just be silly." He lifted a hand. "This might be a bit different, though. We should have talked about it last night, but, uh…."

"You were busy. We noticed." Anders's mouth pulled to one side. "And I got a tent. As consolation prizes go, it's a bit meager, but I suppose I'll appreciate it more when it rains."

Oghren let out a laugh. "We heard, too. Made up for lost time, but good! I think she likes you, boy."

"I…uh…." Alistair's gaze dropped to his boots and he tried to regroup. He took a breath. "So, can you dispel magic, or not?"

"I can. What are you thinking?"

Alistair looked up to see Lis and Leliana returning, having finished with the traps. Leliana was whispering something in Lis's ear that was making her blush.

Maker, anything that could make Lis blush like that wasn't something Alistair wanted to hear, especially when it probably had to do with him, given that everyone seemed to have something to say about their new sleeping arrangements.

"I'm thinking that since we have two people with templar abilities, and a mage who can dispel magic, we can do things a little differently without putting ourselves at risk. Not much of one, anyway."

He frowned, rubbing his forehead. "I think we need to do everything we can to make sure they can't use those paralyzing spells.

"Lis, you cleanse the area as soon as we find them. I'll do the same as soon as they notice us and start to use magic. Anders, do whatever it is you do after waiting just long enough for them to try again. Hopefully, that will give us a window to attack when they're unable to cast again. It won't be long, since they'll have recovered their strength enough to use those spells in a few minutes, but it should be enough.

"It will mean there will also be a window for them to use spells against us that we can't do anything about, but I think that's our best course of action." He looked at each of them. "Does anyone disagree?"

They all shook their heads. That should have made Alistair feel better, but the knot in his stomach just got tighter. Andraste's mercy, they trusted his judgment. He wished he did. "Okay, let's go then."

As they moved through the room toward the doors on the far side, weapons at the ready, Anders kept looking up as if watching for something.

"Anders, what are you looking for? Because I'm guessing it's not good." Alistair found himself looking up, too, as though something bad was going to swoop down on them.

"Dragons." Anders pulled his gaze away from the sealed-off balcony, and looked at Alistair. "I'm pretty sure we killed them all, but there were a lot of dragons here. Very nasty ones."

"Dragons…just what I was hoping for." Alistair shook his head and led them into the passage outside the room and down the stairs, scanning the platforms and alcoves on either side for threats, but so far, the traps at the entrance were the only sign that anyone had been here.

Anders put a hand on Alistair's arm and spoke quietly. "There are rooms just ahead and to the right. That's where the Architect lived."

Nodding, Alistair gave them all a glance, making sure everyone was ready for the fight they'd come here anticipating, then motioned for them to follow.

What they found was anti-climactic. The rooms were entirely empty of people, although there was plenty of evidence that someone not very tidy was using them. Alistair nudged a pile of dirty laundry with his foot. Mage robes, it looked like. "That's a lot of blood."

Anders looked up from a table full of vials, and what looked like ingredients for potions, glancing at Alistair over his shoulder. "There are some pretty unsavory things here, too."

"Do I want to know?"

"Let's just say there are potions that require ingredients that wouldn't make you very happy, potions I wouldn't want to drink."

"Ah. So I _really_ don't want to know. Okay." Alistair grimaced.

Lis frowned. "Blasted blood mages."

"Let's just see what's behind this door, shall we?" Leliana slung her bow over her shoulder and bent to examine the lock on a door at the far side of the room. "This is a very difficult lock, but I think I can…." She worked for a minute, and then turned to them, smiling. "I hope you appreciate me." Leliana straightened and pulled the door open.

Inside was a simple table. There was a body on it.

"This is just…. Who keeps a corpse in their bedroom?" Alistair went by Leliana into the room. "Never mind. I shouldn't be surprised. Really, I shouldn't be _capable_ of surprise at this point, should I?"

He walked to the end of the table so he could see the face of the corpse. He almost dropped his weapon. "Maker's blood!" He looked at the face of a man whose presence he'd once been so glad of, but had come to curse—who after everything, he still thought of as a friend gone to the Maker, although a misguided one. A fellow Warden who'd given his life for duty, and deserved to be treated with far more respect, to have been properly sent to Andraste long before. "This is just not right."

It was Riordan—long dead and perfectly preserved.

Leliana moved forward to stand next to him. "How is this possible? Riordan sacrificed himself to cripple the archdemon, forcing it to land on the roof of Fort Drakon. He…fell. A great distance, Alistair. His body could not possibly be so…."

Anders said, "A mage could have restored his body, even if his soul had already passed on. His body is being magically preserved, certainly." He went to the other side of the body and looked down. "Andraste's mercy." His face paled.

"But why?" Alistair frowned at Riordan's corpse.

"Alistair…."

There was a tone to Anders's voice…. "What?"

"You probably can't see from that side, but…part of his arm is missing."

"His arm? Like, it wasn't restored? Why—"

"I think this man may have been a friend of sorts, right? I'm sorry. There's no easy way to say this—remember what's outside on that table?"

"Ingredients for—Maker!" His stomach lurched, bile rising, and Alistair rushed from the small room into the bedroom, retching. He made it to a large vase before losing the contents of his stomach.

As he straightened, lifting his hands from the top of the vase, he saw that Oghren had followed him out, and was holding up his flask.

Alistair took a large swallow, letting the sharp heat of the alcohol burn the taste from his mouth. He lowered the flask from his lips and looked at Oghren. "By all that's holy."

Oghren took the flask and drank deep, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sodding twisted bastards up here on the surface, Warden." He shook his head. "Riordan was a decent sort. Didn't deserve that. No one deserves that."

Making his way back to the room housing Riordan's corpse, Alistair saw that Leliana was sitting on the floor against a wall, her head on her knees. He crouched down beside her. "Leliana?"

"Such a desecration, Alistair—such a crime against the Maker. Poor Riordan. I can't…. Oh, Alistair…."

Touching her shoulder, Alistair said, "I know, Leliana. We'll make them pay, and then we'll see Riordan sent to the maker with the dignity he deserved."

He rose and looked at Lis to see how she was taking this. Better than he was. She was a little pale, and she looked very angry, but neither she nor Anders were as shaken as those who'd known Riordan. "We can't do anything for him now, but as soon as we can, we'll return and put an end to this."

"Then let us make them pay, Alistair." Leliana pushed herself to her feet. "Let us make them pay right now. For Riordan."

"Among others. The list of Avernus's crimes grows longer by the day. And who knows what his accomplices have done." Lis drew the sword that she'd sheathed to search the rooms, her jaw set, her mouth a thin, hard line.

Anders lifted an eyebrow. "Well, we know that Velanna was a mass murderer before she met Avernus, but I rather thought that was…situational. Maybe not. She doesn't seem to be choosing her friends very wisely."

"You about done talking?" Oghren turned and started out of the bedroom. "It's time to kill some mages."

"Normally, I wouldn't like the sound of that, but in this case…." Anders went after him, followed by Leliana and Lis.

Alistair paused for a moment, looking down at Riordan's still face, so little changed from when Alistair had last seen him alive at the Landsmeet. "I promise you, this outrage will be avenged, and as soon as it is, we will return to see you to the Maker. You have my word."

* * *

After leaving the sickening living area, they came to a large area of caverns and tunnels. The Tevinter aspects ceased to be apparent, and Alistair thought Anders was probably right—this was what was left of the working mine.

He didn't think they'd find Avernus there, but they did a sweep of the area, anyway, just in case. No sign of use could be seen, no detritus, no bodies, no creatures, and they didn't see anyone.

They searched the tunnels to the east, too, where Anders said there had been more dragons. That made Alistair think that the architect had been using the blood of dragons as well as Wardens, and who knew what that might mean. No dragons now, not even undead ones. That was good, but it was also worrisome.

Why was there nothing to hinder their progress? Leliana disarmed traps in areas that an intruder would have to pass through, but that didn't seem like enough. It was more like something that would announce their presence than stop them. If Avernus was still here, he was very confident.

He thought Alistair was dead, certainly, but was he really so sure that the rest of the group wouldn't come after him? Or the templars? While Greagoir had been willing to wait, Avernus couldn't know that he hadn't raised the suspicions of the templars with his activities.

Alistair grew increasingly uneasy which made his stomach feel increasingly awful. Something to fight would have made him feel a lot better about all of this. Avernus had set skeletal guards to guard him at Soldier's Peak, not to mention risen darkspawn. What had changed? Was it just having allies to watch his back, or had he grown more powerful somehow—so powerful he no longer felt the need for additional protection?

They emerged from the tunnels into more of the Tevinter passages, heading north through hallways, past empty rooms, still without attack.

In one large room, they found a score or more dead soldiers in varying states of decay. Mercenaries, by the looks of their mismatched armor and unadorned shields, and not dead from any battle. They had no visible wounds.

"Kallian's soldiers, most likely. Guess they stopped being useful when they had to leave the Keep. How very pragmatic of her." Alistair glanced at Anders. "Blood magic?"

Anders shrugged. "No way to tell, but it was probably magic of some kind that killed them. And since we're after a blood mage…."

"Right."

Lis's grip tightened on her sword, but she didn't say anything.

On the other side of the room, Anders stopped them, leaning close and speaking quietly. "This hall will take us to the cells just ahead. Once we pass through those, we'll be in the laboratory. It's not that big. We'll be fighting at close quarters, and one corner of the room is hidden by a bookcase, at least it was. There's a raised dais to the right, and beyond that is a pit, so don't fall in. It's a long way down."

Alistair nodded. "Got it. Okay, we're almost there—no talking from here on out until we engage them."

Baring her teeth in a fierce grin, Lis nodded, and they entered the block of cells.

The cells weren't empty.

In the first were two templars, one, a bloody and barely conscious man, the other, a slightly older woman. She was sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth, mumbling in a dazed way.

Anders cast a healing spell over the man then looked from the woman to Alistair, shrugging.

Breaking his own order, Alistair leaned over and whispered, "Lyrium addiction."

His eyebrows lifting, Anders turned back to the woman and cast a sleep spell.

The next cell was larger and housed a good sized group of common folk—thirteen by Alistair's count. They were of all ages, ranging from two small boys who were younger than Alistair had been when he went to the Chantry, to an older man who looked to be in his sixties. They seemed to be in better shape than the templars, with the exception of a man in middle years, another barely into adulthood, and a young girl. Those three were lying on the floor, unmoving.

Most were huddled on the ground near the injured, but a few were standing near the bars and saw them approach. It took them a moment to realize those who approached weren't their captors, but then a flicker of hope crossed their faces. One opened his mouth as if to speak.

Alistair put a finger to his lips, pointed to his drawn sword, and toward the door to the laboratory. The captives nodded silently, then turned to their unaware fellows, fingers on their lips, and pointing to Alistair and his companions.

Raising his staff, Anders did what he could for the injured. It seemed to have no effect on the younger man, and Anders was frowning when he looked at Alistair, giving his head a shake.

Blast.

There was a tug on his arm. Alistair turned to see Leliana pointing to the lock on the cell door, and making a twisting motion with her wrist. She wanted to let them out. No, bad idea. That many people, frantic to leave….

Alistair shook his head, making a walking motion with his fingers, and pointing to his ear.

Frowning, Leliana put out a finger toward the group, drew a circle in the air around them, and pointed to the door leading to the tunnels in a sharp motion.

His eyebrows pulling down, Alistair shook his head again.

Lis moved forward to stand beside Leliana. She pointed at each of their group, made a stabbing motion, and mimicked what was probably supposed to be death, but looked more like a puppet with the strings cut. Her eyebrows rose as she turned her palms upward and lifted her shoulders in a shrug, nodding toward the people in the cell.

Maker's breath! They might not win, but they absolutely wouldn't if they undermined themselves out of pity. Alistair threw his hands up, mouthing a silent 'no.' He pointed to his ear again, then flung a hand toward the open door leading to the laboratory.

That got him a scowl from Lis, but he doubted that he looked very happy, either, so they were probably even. What was she thinking? Probably about being captive herself, because if she was thinking about anything else, she wouldn't—

One of the women came close to the bars, and waved for their attention. She pointed to a cell across the room, held up five fingers, and pointed to the injured man who still lived. Then she pointed to the other cell, to the young man who Anders though was beyond help, and shook her head.

Alistair nodded, reaching out to touch her hand as it clutched the bars, mouthing 'soon,' and crossed the room to the other cells. In the first were bodies, stacked like cordwood, at least as many as were in the large cell.

In the second cell were five Grey Wardens, emblazoned griffons plain to see on their armor—four men and a woman. Only one was conscious, his expression tight lipped and angry, his face deathly pale. He staggered to his feet when he saw Anders, his eyes wide, cradling a mangled arm.

Alistair put a finger to his lips once again, while Anders raised his staff to heal the Wardens inside, one at a time. It didn't cure the man's arm—not completely. That would take time and more healing, but his color improved. There were small movements from all those on the floor, but Anders turned away from the man watching, lifting two fingers and giving the smallest of shrugs.

Andraste's sword, how could Kallian allow this? Templars, Wardens, innocent common folk—children, even—all playthings for Avernus. There was no excuse possible, no reason good enough.

Lifting his hands, Alistair motioned for the man to wait.

The Warden shook his head, pointing to the lock, their swords, and then to himself.

Not a chance. He could barely stand, although Alistair understood the man's need to kill Avernus all too well.

Shaking his head, Alistair pointed to the Warden's damaged arm, and again motioned for him to wait, this time more forcefully.

The youngest boy in the large cell started to screech for no reason that Alistair could understand, because nothing was any worse than it had been a moment before. Maker, children were baffling, and that couldn't have come at a worse time. His mother gave him a smack and a 'shush!' Looking at them wide-eyed, the child fell silent, but it was too late.

The Dalish mage, Velanna, ran through open doorway that led to Avernus, an irritated expression on her face. She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening at the sight of Alistair. "Mythral'enaste! How can you be alive?" Then her gaze went past him to Anders. "Ah, I see. This is how you repay Kallian for your life, Anders? Such loyalty!"

Lifting a hand toward the imprisoned Wardens, Anders said. "I could say the same, Velanna." He frowned at her, his eyes narrow. "We can't let you keep doing this. You must know that."

Velanna backed toward the doorway quickly, moving her hands in urgent motions, and the room filled with driving wind. Ice particles stung as they hit exposed skin, and blowing snow made it hard to see.

Alistair heard her run up the staircase beyond. "Avernus! Intruders!"

Blast it all! If they dispelled the blizzard, they'd have one less opportunity to dispel traps and paralyze spells on entering the room, but these people were in bad shape. This could kill them. There was no choice here. "Anders! Dispel it!"

Anders raised his staff and bright light rushed outward, ending the spell.

They ran up the stairs to the laboratory. Avernus was by what must be the pit Anders had told them about, standing at the edge of a raised platform.

A wave of light swept outward from Lis, then bright flashes in front of them as unseen traps were dispelled—two, maybe three.

Lis and Oghren ran toward Velanna, weapons raised.

Leliana drew back the string of her bow and loosed an arrow at the elven mage, who brought up a magical shield in time to deflect the shot.

Spreading his arms, Alistair sent a second cleansing aura through the room. He'd almost waited too long, feeling the touch of a paralyzing spell just as he loosed his power, sweeping it away. A shudder went through him. Maker….

Avernus raised his staff.

A golden wall of light rose around Alistair, immobilizing him, paralyzing him. He fought back a surge of panic, knowing just how truly helpless he was. And he knew that the rest of the group would be just as powerless.

Avernus turned toward one of the cages that hung from the ceiling next to the dais, flinging his arms out toward…. Oh, Andraste, no…. There was a woman in there, her hands clenched on the bars, her face tight with fear.

The air shimmered. A bright glow formed around Avernus and the woman in the cage, the light around him growing brighter, as hers dimmed.

Alistair fought against the spell that held him, wanting desperately to stop this, to help her, but it did no good. All he could do was watch as Avernus drew power from her until she collapsed to the floor of the cage.

The paralyzing spell collapsed, but was replaced by one from Velanna. Lightning filled the room, and as it arced down toward him, Alistair saw it branching off to strike his companions. It hit and tingling pain swept through his body. Oh, this was going well. Good plan, Alistair. Just…great.

A blast of freezing air from Anders hit Avernus, but had no effect.

Avernus lifted his staff and a red cloud filled the air.

What…was he doing here? Alistair rubbed his head. He had a terrible headache. Why was that? He didn't remember…. Something wasn't…Maker's breath! Loghain's men—all around him! They were here to kill him and— No. No…. That wasn't right Loghain was dead. What…?

Alistair tried to focus, resisting the force that pressed into his mind, bending his thoughts, his feelings, even his sight. He gathered his will, closing his mind to it, until the enemies he saw around him took on the true appearance of his friends.

_Blood magic_—mind control—and he hadn't even _tried_ to use the Litany. He hadn't seen it coming or known it for what it was…. Fire and blight!

He looked at the others.

Anders head was bowed. He seemed shaken, but…like himself.

Lis…. She had an angry, desperate look on her face, but it started to fade as—Andraste's blood, Leliana was almost on Lis, her daggers raised to strike. They were too far away for him to reach in time. "Anders!"

Anders looked up, and reacted almost instantly, a hand coming up, lifting toward Leliana. She collapsed to the floor in a deep sleep. He raised his hand again, but before he could do whatever he planned, Velanna cast the same freezing spell on Anders that had failed on Avernus, ice forming around him in a solid shell.

Velanna waved her arms, and an impenetrable tangle of jagged roots appeared from nowhere, surrounding her and blocking any approach. She could do anything and they couldn't reach her.

"Lis! Smite Velanna!" Even as he was yelling, Alistair was gathering his will to send a smite of his own down on Avernus, with all the power he could muster.

It stunned the ancient mage, but he stayed on his feet. Holy Maker, he was stronger than he'd been by far. That should have sent him into the pit.

There's been no flash of light from a smite loosed against Velanna, so Alistair turned to see what was wrong.

Oghren had lost the battle against Avernus's mind control, a berserker rage twisting his face, and was attacking Lis.

She was blocking his axe with her shield, but she wasn't fighting with anything like her usual skill. She must still be dazed by Avernus's blood magic.

Alistair ran toward Lis and Oghren. Lifting his sword, he aimed for a weak spot in Oghren's breastplate that he knew was there because Oghren spoke of it. He wanted to go to a blacksmith after the battle, he…. Alistair's sword wavered.

The axe swung forward, all Oghren's strength behind it and hit Lis's side between waist and hip, splitting her armor, biting deep, and knocking her to the ground.

Maker have mercy, no! He couldn't let this happen—he'd _already_ let this happen. He had to do something without killing Oghren. Maybe Anders could bring him back, but maybe he couldn't. Who knew how these things worked? It wasn't like people got raised from the dead all over the place, and did it even work with dwarves?

Alistair lifted his shield, driving it toward Oghren, panic and a myriad of other, less identifiable emotions filling him and fueling his attack. Oghren seemed to be moving slower than usual, letting him land blows that he could have blocked. Shield and sword pommel smashed into Oghren again and again, until he lay on the ground unmoving.

He straightened, looking down the friend whom he'd just beaten battered and bloody, looking at Lis where she lay injured, then turned and threw himself toward Avernus, his rage lending him speed.

It was almost enough. He was almost close enough to strike when Avernus raised his staff, encasing Alistair in a transparent prison that tightened, pressing in on him to the point that small bones started to break. It was impossible to draw a breath. His vision grew spotty and the sounds of battle faded until they seemed far away.

Then he was free, a wave of cleansing power from Lis swirling around him.

Alistair gasped for air, staggering to his feet from where he'd fallen. He tried to pick up the sword that he'd dropped, tried to make unresponsive, broken fingers bend. Still scrabbling at the hilt, he felt Anders healing him.

The sounds of battle resumed—Anders and Velanna. He glanced back toward his companions. Anders had Velanna wrapped in a column of magical fire, but she was countering by raising an ice storm around them. As long as he kept her occupied until Avernus was dead….

Oghren and Leliana were still unconscious, thank the Maker.

Lis was still lying down, but was pressing a poultice into her side. While her face was strained, she gave him a sharp nod, raising her eyebrows. His relief was so overwhelming it froze him in place for a moment, as surely as any spell.

His gaze was still fixed on her as he reached for his sword. Lis was alive—alive and strong enough that she could cleanse magic to save him. She was going to be all right. Praise Andraste.

Alistair was able to pick up the sword and climb the dais, moving slower than he wanted, his bruised body stiff and pained.

A bolt of power blasted by him, coming from Anders. It knocked Avernus to the ground, and as Alistair drew his sword back, he saw fear on the ancient blood mage's face for the first time—fear and desperation.

Avernus stretched an arm toward the woman in the cage again, his body glowing bright with her stolen strength, and flung a hand toward Alistair.

Alistair's blood burned like acid in his veins, fire flowing through every inch of his body.

His heart pounded, echoing in his ears in his ears. Bending over he put his hands on his knees, bracing himself against collapse.

Pulling himself upright, Avernus said, "You are blinded by prejudice and Chantry propaganda. Everything I've done is necessary, and the goals worth the cost—for the Wardens and everyone else. You must let me continue!"

Alistair gasped, "You're killing people for blood magic."

Avernus threw his hand forward to cast the spell again.

It was all Alistair could do not to scream. He staggered, his vision tunneling in.

"No one wants to die, even a Chantry-addled fool like you. The pain will cease, and you will see how much the Wardens need me—you need me. I did this for Kallian and now you. A gift of life—a decade at least. Longer, almost certainly. I have more power now than ever before.

"The taint will be what it was when you first were Joined, and slowed. I will be able to do _much_ more if you let me continue my work, not only for you, but for everyone afflicted. I'm close to a real cure."

"No…not…." Alistair forced himself upright. "…right…." He couldn't continue. It was all he could do not to drop to the floor and curl up like some poor creature awaiting death. Instead he forced himself forward, swinging his sword, and brought it down on Avernus's neck, taking his head from his body.

The sword fell from his hand and Alistair dropped to one knee, his arms wrapped around himself, biting down hard to keep from crying out.

The pounding in his ears grew louder and he couldn't hear most of what Anders said when he came to his side. Something about not being able to stop it…. Maker's mercy…. Blood magic—and it was doing something to him, he could feel it.

It seemed like it took forever, but eventually the pain subsided, the burning became uncomfortable warmth, and he dropped back so that he was sitting on the ground, dragging shaking hands over his face. "Maker's breath. What did he do, Anders?"

"I don't know. Just what he said, I think. You still bear the taint, but I can't tell how much."

Alistair looked at Anders, fear knotting his stomach. "Am I…corrupted? Blood magicky?"

"Blood magicky?" Anders gave him a thin smile. "No. I sense nothing _blood magicky _in you."

"Thank the Maker. Velanna?"

"Got away. When Avernus lost his head, she jumped into the pit. I tried to stop her, but she brought up a kind of shield around her that I've never seen before. It was like my spell just went past her, somehow."

"Blast. We have to get to the Vigil and let them know what happened here." Alistair tried to get up, but his legs wouldn't cooperate.

Anders put a hand on his shoulder. "Not today, we won't. You're in no condition to travel, and neither is Lis. Oghren looks worse than he is, but he needs healing, too. We need to make camp. And those people in the cells outside will need attention, too."

"The woman in the cage…is she…?"

Shaking his head, Anders said, "I tried to revive her, but Avernus had weakened her too much. She slipped away, and I couldn't bring her back again."

"So…the years Avernus gave me cost her life—if that's what he did." Alistair felt as sickened as he had when he'd realized what the mages were doing with Riordan.

Anders frowned at him. "No, blood magic cost her life. Avernus was siphoning power from her for the whole battle—and before we got here. She could have died anytime."

"But she didn't, did she?" Alistair shook his head and pushed himself off the ground. His legs almost buckled, but he made them work by an effort of will. "Let's get those people out of the cells. We'll have to leave the dead. The Wardens from the Vigil can come back to identify them and send them to the Maker."

He turned to look at Lis, then at Oghren and Leliana. "I can't get out of here soon enough."


	23. Chapter 23

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page.

* * *

By the time Alistair could walk, Lis was sitting up and drinking a potion. That was good. The amount of blood on the floor beneath her…. Bad. Very bad. No wonder she was so pale. If he'd seen that before, Alistair wouldn't even have considered traveling to the Vigil tonight.

He shouldn't have considered it anyway. In his fervor to report this…_atrocity_ to the Wardens, he'd completely forgotten about the prisoners in the next room. What would he have done? A forced march, people dropping like flies along the route? He really hadn't been thinking—of course, he hadn't been at his best right at that moment. While he had to take responsibility for the failures in this attack, he could give himself that much.

Crouching down beside Lis, he laid his hand on her cheek. She seemed too cold. "How do you feel?"

"Better than you'd expect, considering." She reached up and took his hand, pulling it away from her face to examine his fingers. "Are you all right? Why couldn't you pick up your sword? What did Avernus do there at the end?"

"That was a particularly good version of the crushing prison spell that Avernus cast. It broke a lot of smaller bones before you could cleanse it. I'm fine, now." He wiggled his fingers carefully, ignoring the twinges that caused. "See? All better. Broken fingers are hardly comparable to taking a berserker's axe to the side, though."

Wrapping his hand around hers, Alistair looked down and said, "I…let you down. I could see that you were still under the influence of Avernus's blood magic. You weren't fighting like yourself, but when I got to Oghren, I hesitated. I…you could have been killed." His gaze met hers again. "I'm so sorry, Lis."

Lis gave her head a little shake. "I wasn't under the influence of blood magic by then, Alistair. I hesitated, too. Oghren is a friend. Do you think the less of me for it?"

His eyebrows rose. "Of course not! You—"

The corners of her mouth turned up, and she lifted an eyebrow.

"Ah." Alistair's mouth pulled to one side. "I see what you did there." He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed her hand. "Is this a bad time to mention that I love you?"

Her smile widened. "And I love you." The smile faded. "Alistair, what did Avernus mean about an extra ten years or more of life? And what did he do to you? It looked horrible."

Oh…Maker. Lis was probably going to be upset that he hadn't told her. He should have told her…. "There's something you don't know about the Wardens, Lis. It's supposed to be a secret, I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but…it's not fair not to let you know. I should have told you last night before anything happened, but…I wasn't thinking." Alistair leaned forward to touch her cheek, "I couldn't think, really."

He settled back into a crouch. "Wardens carry the taint. There's a ritual, and we drink a potion made with darkspawn blood and lyrium, among other things. It makes us immune to the darkspawn taint so we can fight them without dying from their poison, and makes us able to sense their presence. We can tell if there's a Blight, because we can sense an archdemon. The thing is, eventually the taint overtakes us when our bodies can't fight it off anymore. Most Wardens go to the Deep Roads to die in battle against the darkspawn, before…."

Lis's eyes filled with tears.

Oh, no…yelling would be so much better. Alistair reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek. "Don't…please, Lis. It's not so bad. We have thirty years from the time we're joined, give or take. Lots of warriors don't live that long, even without the taint, and if I'd taken my templar vows, the lyrium addiction would have destroyed me just as surely."

Pulling her hand from his, Lis wiped her eyes. Her voice quavered when she spoke. "That's supposed to make me feel better? That you never had a chance?" The tears flowed in earnest now.

Alistair couldn't think of anything to say that might not make things worse. He wanted to put his arms around her, he wanted to hold her, but he couldn't, wounded as she was. He moved to sit behind her, legs on either side, and gently pulled her back to lean on him. "I'm sorry, Lis. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

"Why is my patient weeping?"

"Anders…you're back. Uh…Lis wanted to know what Avernus meant about living longer. I…told her."

"You thought now was the best time to impart _that_ little piece of news? Andraste's flaming knickers, Templar-King! The two of you are lounging in a goodly portion of her blood, and it didn't occur to you that she might be a little less resilient than usual?

"What was I supposed to do, Anders? Lie about it?"

"Forgetting the part about it being a deep, dark Warden secret, you mean? You could have waited until—"

"I'm right here, you know. Stop talking over my head." Lis took a deep breath, wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. "It's all right, Anders. I'd be even more upset if Alistair had waited to tell me, since neither of you seem to be collecting Avernus's blasted research."

"The Wardens from the Vigil will take care of that when they come back for the bodies. At least I think they will." Alistair looked at Anders. "They will, right? We can't just leave all this around for some maleficar to find."

Lis leaned her head back on Alistair's shoulder, looking up at his face. "I know you believe in the Grey Wardens, Alistair, and I'm not saying you're wrong, but one has already succumbed to the temptation to use blood magic. And…it works, doesn't it? That was what Avernus did to you. He used blood magic to remove the taint, at least some of it."

Looking away from her, Alistair said, "I don't want to talk about that, Lis. I don't even want to think about it. I really don't."

"I'm sorry, Alistair." Lis reached up to touch his face. "I just…Kallian probably isn't the only one who would ignore the cost—who would find the temptation too great to resist. Maybe there's a way to do the same thing without blood magic, maybe another mage can find it—that would be…wonderful—but I don't trust anyone to do that but Anders.

"Even if another Warden mage found a cure that owed nothing to blood magic, would Weisshaupt share it with all freely? Or would it be a means of control, like lyrium and the templars? It could be used to force the Wardens of Ferelden to follow instructions to the letter rather than as they see fit, maybe even act against the best interests of the country."

Alistair frowned at her. "I don't like the idea of using Avernus's research at all, Lis, even for sanctioned magic. It's built on horrors. Is it right to benefit from that?"

He looked at Anders—who was staring at him, his eyebrows about as high as they could go. Oh. Maker…. "I know how this looks, like I benefited from it and now I'm saying no one else should, but that's not what it feels like. I've been made part of something vile, and I don't know how I can…." Alistair shook his head. "Using it just seems wrong. We don't even know what he really did. It will take another twenty-five years or so to find out, assuming something bad doesn't happen first. He could have done anything. I wouldn't know the difference, would I? Avernus could have just said he was removing taint because he was desperate—a bluff."

"Bright side, huh, Templar-King?" Anders squatted down beside them. "But what reason would Kallian have for supporting his research if he wasn't doing what he said? The only thing that makes sense is that Avernus was working on a cure. I don't see how he could know what it did for sure—not unless he was able to remove the taint entirely, but I think that was his intent."

Anders shook his head. "So you want to destroy his notes? I think it might be too late for that.

"Velanna knows what he was working on. From what Avernus said, Kallian doesn't just know, she made use of it. Have they told anyone—will they tell anyone? And what do the prisoners know? If we can't find a better way to do the same thing, and word gets out, someone else will start trying reproduce Avernus's results.

"And I have to admit that I wouldn't mind living a little longer and maybe foregoing that final trip to the Deep Roads, if it could be done without this kind of nightmare."

"We don't have to decide now. I can have a look and see if there's anything there that doesn't depend on blood magic, some clue as to another way to proceed. If there is, we can decide what to do then. If there isn't, we can just throw it all on the campfire.

"Besides, the only way to really know what he did to you is to look at that research."

Alistair looked down at Lis, who has a very determined expression, for all she looked pale and strained. He nodded slowly. "All right. This is against my better judgment, but…we'll wait for now. But if blood magic is the only way…we destroy it."

"Neither of us likes blood magic any more than you do. I'll gather everything I can find." Anders stood. "Oh, and I've healed everyone as much as I can right now."

Nodding, Alistair looked over to where Oghren and Leliana lay on the floor.

Oghren was no longer a bloody mess. Well, he was still bloody—magic couldn't wash that away, but torn and battered flesh, the broken bones, had been healed leaving yellow and purple bruises as the only evidence of what Alistair had done.

Leliana was starting to stir. Good thing. Alistair could only imagine how impatient the prisoners must be getting as they waited for their cells to be unlocked. It was only a minute or two later when she put a hand to her head. "Maker's breath…what—" She looked around her, eyes wide and showing a hint of panic. "The soldiers. Where are they?"

"It was blood magic, Leliana. There were no soldiers. Avernus is dead, Velanna is gone—and you can let the prisoners out now." Alistair tightened his arms around Lis for a moment before edging backward so he could stand.

He went to Leliana and reached down to help her up. "We won. Sort of. My plan didn't exactly work as I'd hoped. It fell apart, really."

"You judge yourself too harshly as usual, Alistair. We won, and the prisoners are free. That's the important thing." Leliana gave his arm a squeeze and went down the stairs to the cells.

"_Bollocks_, you damn nughumper!" Oghren sat up—Alistair hadn't even known he was awake. "We only got paralyzed once instead of by all those traps and by both mages. Avernus is dead…we're all alive?"

Alistair nodded.

"Then your plan worked about as well as any do once you cross weapons, and better than more than I care to count. Stop blathering about it!" He scowled at Alistair and then at Lis. "But what in the name of the stone did you two think you were playing at?"

Alistair turned up his hands and lifted an eyebrow. "Playing at?"

"When that sodding blood mage took over my body!" He pointed a finger at Lis. "_You_ just stood there, blinking like a nug that's supper, a few feeble parries at best." The finger swung around to Alistair, and Oghren stabbed it forward in a gesture more fitting of a different finger. "And YOU! I thought you were on top of it! But nooooo! Instead of taking me out quick, you took your own sweet time and let me get to Legs, the nug-stupid tranquil! You finally got it together, but _sod it!_ I thought you knew better than to screw around with a berserker! Do you have any idea how hard I had to fight that spell to keep from killing her? What in the name of your blasted Black City were you thinking?"

"Andraste's sword! I was thinking that I didn't want to gut a friend like a fish!"

"Well, that was stupid! And don't ever let me catch you doing that again, or it's your own guts you'll have to worry about. Sodding brainless mosslicker…." Oghren pushed past Leliana, who was on her way back to them, as he stomped down the stairs and out of the room. "I'll be by the door when you're done _chatting_. Mud swallowing surfacers…."

Leliana looked at them, her eyes wide. "Oghren hurt Lis? But…oh. The blood magic. Maker's mercy. I've never seen him feeling so badly. No wonder."

"Oh, is that what it is?" Alistair gave a short laugh. "And here I just thought that he thinks I'm an idiot for not killing him—not that I didn't say the same thing." He frowned. "Wait… He knew what he was doing the whole time. How—"

Setting a large stack of papers in the floor, Anders knelt down and started putting them in a purloined bag. "He's a dwarf." "Magic doesn't always work predictably on them, especially not ones that have spent a lot of time in parts of the Deep Roads where there are lyrium deposits."

He turned his head to look at Alistair. "I might not have been able to revive him. They don't go to the Fade like we do, so who knows where their souls go after they die, or how long it takes. He may well owe you his life."

Reaching out to touch Alistair on the shoulder, Leliana said, "Alistair…. Kallian knows what went one here. The Wardens saw her, their own commander."

"Andraste's mercy. This just gets worse and worse." Alistair looked at the body of the Warden, which still lay inside the cage. Did any loyalty have meaning for Kallian? He turned to Leliana. "Velanna is probably on her way back to Vigil's Keep to warn Kallian, and it would be a lot easier to transport the wounded if we had some ox carts here in the morning. Could you…?"

Leliana nodded. "Certainly, Alistair, but will they believe me when I tell them what has happened here?"

"Ah…no. Probably not." Alistair grabbed a piece of paper from the notes on the floor and held it in front of Anders's face. "Is this important?"

Anders took the page from him, ripped it in half and handed the bottom part to Alistair. "That bit isn't."

Running over to a table, Alistair dipped a quill in a bottle of ink. "The seneschal's name is Varel, right?"

Anders pulled the pack shut and stood. "Yes. And you probably don't want to tell him I said 'hi.' I don't think it will help."

"Oh, I don't know about that. You probably have more credibility than someone whom Kallian told the queen to execute, but I'll give it a try." Alistair leaned over the table, holding the paper in place with one hand. "One serious and highly credible letter, coming up…. Maybe he'll forget that I almost lost my head." Alistair let out a sigh. "Maker, it's easy to be serious when I have to tell him things that I truly wish weren't so."

_Seneschal Varel—_

_It is my sad duty to inform you that among those rescued from the blood mage and Warden, Avernus, were five Grey Wardens. To my everlasting regret, a sixth died at his hands. I must also inform you that his actions were carried out with the full knowledge of Warden-Commander Kallian, and were aided by the warden mage, Velanna._

_Anders is doing his best by all the wounded, which also include two templars, and a number of the many village folk who were imprisoned in the depths of the silverite mine in the Wending Wood._

_While the commander will likely deny any involvement, there are many witnesses who will offer surety that this is so, including the imprisoned Wardens of Vigil's Keep. I ask that she and Velanna be confined pending our arrival._

_I would be most grateful if you could send ox carts to transport the wounded to the keep in the morning._

_Alistair T., Grey Warden of Ferelden. _

He looked at what he'd written, and then added:

_PS. The lady who bears this note is a valued friend and one who was instrumental in ending the Blight. She can be trusted implicitly. _

"Okay. That should do it." Alistair blew on the page to dry the ink and handed it to Leliana. "See if the Wardens have any amulets or mementos that might identify them, and give those to Varel, too." He frowned at Leliana. "I don't like asking you to travel through the mine alone, or to the Vigil, for that matter."

She patted him on the arm. "Don't be silly, Alistair."

"Velanna is the better part of an hour ahead of you, so you might not—"

"I can travel quickly, and while she and Kallian will need to gather supplies, I need only convince the guards to lock the gate. All will be well." Leliana rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. "You have done well here today, Alistair." With that, she turned and ran down the stairs.

Alistair looked back toward the others and saw Lis pushing herself off the ground awkwardly, trying not to put pressure on tenuously healed muscles and organs. He reached out an arm for her to use to balance, trusting her to know how best to rise without injuring herself anew.

After watching her start across the room in a slightly hunched stance that was a little too reminiscent of the undead that had infested Castle Redcliffe, Alistair moved to her side, put her arm around his shoulder, and gave what support he could.

"Alistair, I'm fine, really. There are others who need your help much more than me. I'm just being cautious so I'll be ready to travel tomorrow."

"Humor me. It's the first chance I've had to stroll arm in arm with the woman I love."

Lis smiled, a small smile that didn't seem to come as easily as before she'd tried walking, and let him help her down the stairs toward the former prisoners who waited with Oghren. That was all it took to make Alistair certain that healing her had been a closer call than Anders had wanted to tell him, or that Lis would let him see. Maker, how many times had Anders saved them, now?

* * *

Their camp looked like the Blight was back. Desperate farmers and villagers crowded around one fire, injured Wardens and templars were stretched out near another. The tents housed the weakest and the children. Every scrap of food had been dug out of packs and divided among those rescued. It wasn't even close to enough.

Getting them all out of the mine had been a nightmare, the least injured supporting, or carrying, those who were more badly wounded. It had taken hours.

Alistair glanced over at their third, smaller fire. Lis was sleeping on her bedroll, the only one that hadn't been given to one of the rescued. He hadn't been able to say more than a few words to her, what with getting the former prisoners settled, as well as speaking to the Wardens to get more details on Kallian's activities.

Kallian had known exactly what Avernus and Velanna were doing. The Wardens overheard her talking to Avernus. Apparently, the two of them had argued about the presence of the Wardens, but when Avernus had insisted that he needed them, Kallian had backed down. She hadn't said anything about the villagers or the templars. Alistair couldn't help but notice that there were no elves among the prisoners—city, Dalish or Warden. He wondered if Avernus had no use for them or if there was someplace that Kallian drew a line, and that was it.

Hearing raised voices, Alistair turned to see the younger templar talking to Anders. 'Talking' was one way to put it, anyway. The templar was standing, arms were waving, and he was far too exercised for a man who'd been so badly injured such a short time before.

Alistair decided he'd better see what this was about.

"I won't tell you anything! How do you even know about that?" The templar swung toward Alistair. "_You_ told him, didn't you? Have you no respect for the order? How could you betray such a secret? An apostate and—"

"That's enough! You're talking about someone who saved the lives of half the people here, including you." Alistair raised his hands. "What's your name, templar? It would seem that you already know who Anders and I are."

The fury didn't leave the man's face, but he stopped yelling, at least for the moment. Alistair also noticed signs of what might be mild lyrium withdrawal—sweat on his brow, shaking hands, perhaps even his level of anger. Nothing as bad as that which afflicted the other templar, but…signs.

"I am Gavin. My commander's name is Ismay."

Alistair dropped his hands. "Well, Gavin, I'd guess that you're upset that Anders knows about the lyrium, but he had to be told. Otherwise, he wouldn't have known to keep your commander sleeping until we could find a way to help her, or return her to the Chantry. You know how unpredictable her behavior might have been.

"And I hate to tell you this, but not every templar is as mindful of secrets as you are. We ran into one who spilled it like it was common knowledge. It's not, of course, I'm just saying that Anders knowing isn't the end of the world, or even something entirely unique. We're Wardens. You can trust us with this."

Alistair shrugged. "Besides, what do you think he's going to do? Create an army of templar-mages? Their brains would explode from sheer self loathing. Just tell him what he needs to know and let us help Ismay."

Anders gave Alistair a nod, then turned to Gavin. "Why is she so much worse off than you are?"

Tears welled in the templar's eyes. "She knew we didn't have enough lyrium, not if we couldn't escape quickly. She…ordered me to use hers. I should have refused, I shouldn't have let her—"

"She's your commander, Gavin. You didn't have a choice." Alistair put a hand on the man's shoulder. He glanced at Anders who mouthed words at him. 'Something, something, something…lyrium?' Lyrium, of course.

He looked back to Gavin. "You need to tell Anders everything you know about the lyrium you take—how much, how often, and what else might be in it, if anything. He has to know to help your commander. Can you do that?"

Gavin nodded. "I guess…for the commander."

"Good man." Well. Now he wasn't only giving away Chantry secrets, he was convincing others to do so. The Grand Cleric would have fits.

Alistair gave Anders a wave and went back to their fire. He saw that Lis was awake, so he dropped down beside her. "Hey. How do you feel?"

"Good. Healed. Sleepy…. I don't know why I'm so sleepy." She blinked at him through heavy lidded eyes.

"Anders says it's because we left half your blood behind at the mine. That won't happen again, not if I can help it." He reached down and took her hand. "I could have lost you today. That's not something I can bear."

"I feel the same, that's why…. I know you aren't comfortable with us taking Avernus's notes, Alistair, but I have to know that we tried everything within the limits of decency."

He leaned over to kiss her, and as he straightened, she said, "This really isn't how I wanted to spend the night."

"Nor I, believe me."

Lis grinned at him, looking more like herself than she had since she'd been wounded. "Shall tell you what I had in mind?"

Alistair laughed and touched her cheek. "Best not, unless you want to make me blush several shades of red in front of all these people. But wait, that's your plan, isn't it? Evil woman." He bent to kiss her again. "I need to let you sleep. Not that I want to, but Anders will have my hide if I don't. I bet he's glaring at me right now."

"Oh, all right. If you insist on being no fun." She winked at him, reaching up to run a hand down his neck.

"You make it very hard to be good."

"I try."

He took her hand, now wandering very pleasantly, and tucked it under her blanket. "Leave that there." Alistair gave her a smile. "I have to go talk to Oghren. Oh, joy. He doesn't look like his mood has improved much."

"Take him something to drink. At least he'll let you sit down, then."

"That's your answer to every difficult conversation, isn't it?" Alistair smiled. "I suddenly feel less special."

"I brought you good wine—and you share my tent."

"Right. Point taken. Especially that second part." He looked over at Oghren, who was sitting just outside the light of their fire, staring at his hands. "I think Leliana gave all the wine to our guests."

"Wasn't there a jar of something in that bag that Cordell's wife gave us after we got him out from under that cart? I know we drank the wine."

"We didn't drink what was in the jar because it scared me. It made my eyes water just taking the lid off."

"Oghren will love it." She smiled at him. "Go."

"Oh…all right." Alistair brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers and went to dig out the jar. He'd put it with the medical supplies thinking that it might come in handy if Anders was out of commission for some reason.

Rooting around in the pack, he noticed just how low those supplies had gotten with the need to treat so many. Even those who hadn't had obvious injuries had a host of cuts, bruises, scrapes, and insect issues.

Ah, there it was. Funny, the jar looked perfectly innocuous, not like it contained something that should probably be illegal. Lis was right. Oghren would love it—if he was willing to let Alistair get close enough to give it to him.

Oghren was still staring at his hands as Alistair approached. And sitting in the dark was never a good sign, not with anyone. And…he wasn't drinking. There wasn't a flask or bottle in sight. At a time like this, different probably wasn't good.

"Uh…can I join you, Oghren?"

"I can't stop you." Oghren didn't look up.

"Sure you can, and in lots of different ways, but I hope you won't." Oghren didn't say anything, so Alistair sat down close enough to talk, but far enough away that hitting him would be difficult. "You aren't drinking."

"No. I'm not sodding drinking." He looked up from his hands and gave Alistair a hard stare. "You think that's not possible, is that it? You think I drink because I have to, not because I want to? Oghren the drunk. Always has a flask in hand, always out for a good time! Well, not tonight, I'm not."

Alistair looked down at the jar between his feet. "I can tell the difference between a man who wants to drink, and one who has to, Oghren. I spent the better part of two years in taverns being the kind of drunk who did it by choice, if you can call the kind of running I was doing a choice, but I saw plenty who weren't. If you were the kind who had to, we wouldn't have gotten through the Deep Roads before you were no use to us at some point. It was just an observation."

He looked at Oghren. "I don't care if you drink or not, but I do care why."

Oghren looked away, and across the crowded camp. "We used to call Kallian 'Warden' like she was the only one, like if you said 'the Warden,' everyone would know who you were talking about. She had all the answers." His gaze came back to Alistair. "You're 'the Warden' now. How do you feel about that? Have all the answers?"

"It scares me to death—and no, I'm certain I don't."

"Well, she didn't either, we know that now, but she had confidence. Nothing difficult gets done without the confidence to throw yourself into things and believe you're going to win, that you're in control. Not just hope, but know.

His gaze shifted away again, across the campfire to where Lis was once again sleeping. "She's a damn fine girl, your Lis…and I almost killed her. I couldn't trust my own eyes! And even after I got past that, I couldn't trust my body. The blood mage had the control, not me." Oghren turned back to Alistair. "You have an answer to that?"

"I…. No. Sorry, Oghren. Blood magic is a terrible thing."

"Well, you freed yourself fast enough." He hiked a thumb toward Lis. "The both of you."

"Templar stuff. I could try and teach you, but it's pretty much the opposite of being a berserker. It's about keeping tight control of your will, then using it in precise ways. I don't know if…."

Alistair paused, his mind going back to how the spell had affected Oghren. "You're the only one of us who could see the truth when under the spell, though. I've never heard of such a thing. That must mean that you have some kind of resistance to it. Maybe you could increase it. We can ask Anders."

Oghren let out a snort. "Dwarves can't do magic. You know that."

"Dwarves can't, but items they carry can." Alistair pulled the leather cord that he wore around his neck out from under his armor to show Oghren the runes that hung from it. "Maybe I'm fooling myself, but I could swear these make a difference. They're supposed to be magic. I just seem to concentrate better, even fight better, when I'm wearing them." He tucked the charms out of sight again. "We might as well see what Anders has to say. It can't hurt, right?"

"Can't make it worse, there's that." Oghren looked down at his feet and let out a sigh. "Okay. We can talk to the mage."

After a minute or two, he looked up and pointed to the jar. "What you got in there, anyway?"

"The strongest, ugliest liquor I've ever encountered."

"Huh. That might be worth a try. Pass it here." Oghren glanced at Alistair as he reached out for the jar. "Someday, I'll die in battle, and that's the way it should be—but I wasn't ready for it to be today. So…." He reached behind him to take a couple of metal cups from his pack. "I still don't want you to ever do anything like that again."

As he started to pour the clear liquid into the cups, Alistair said, "Just a little for me. I'm responsible for these people."

Nodding, Oghren passed him a half full cup. "Too sodding bad Kallian never saw it that way, Warden. We wouldn't be here."


	24. Chapter 24

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page.

* * *

It was just after dawn when Leliana and soldiers from the keep arrived with transport for the wounded—and not only them. There were enough carts that none of the former prisoners would have to walk, which would speed things up a great deal. Even those who hadn't been wounded were in no shape for a march to the Vigil. Avernus hadn't been overly concerned with their care and feeding.

Anders seemed to know all the soldiers. He greeted them with a wave, and got everything moving, pointing to wounded people and saying something about each.

Leliana had brought much needed food.

She handed Alistair bread, cheese and apples for their group, then leaned close to speak privately. "My, but your note created a stir! It ended with Kallian and Velanna being locked up, but not until there had been a great deal of yelling and commotion. And I don't know which shocked Seneschal Varel more, that Kallian had dealings with a blood mage and did harm to her own arling as well as to the Wardens, or that he received a missive about it from a dead man. He is very interested in how you came to be in Amaranthine fighting Avernus."

She pointed to a tall brown-haired man who was speaking to one of the injured Wardens, and resumed her normal tone. "That is Captain Garevel. He has been very helpful. He started gathering supplies and arranging the carts long before they'd decided what to do about Kallian."

"Thanks, Leliana. This is more than I expected, by far."

Giving him a smile, Leliana left to distribute food around the camp with Lis's help.

At that moment, as Anders made arrangements for the wounded and Garevel shouted orders to his men, while Leliana and Lis passed out food and comfort to all, Alistair felt an overwhelming desire to just sit down and let it all happen around him, to let other people be responsible for a while.

But…that wasn't how it worked. You didn't get to take a break after stirring up a hornet's nest like this one, or let the pieces fall where they may.

Instead, Alistair walked across the camp to greet the Captain. "Captain Garevel? I'm Alistair. Thanks for coming for us. I was worried about getting these people to the Vigil."

"Alistair." Garevel lifted his arm to his chest and bowed his head in an informal salute. "We owe you a great debt." He waved a hand to the Warden he'd been speaking with, who was now being helped into a cart. "Leith confirmed everything. Please don't take offense, but it was difficult to believe that the commander would be party to such a thing. I half expected to find that it was some terrible misunderstanding, but that seems not to be the case."

"I'm not offended at all, Captain. If someone had tried to tell me such a thing about my Warden-Commander…well, I probably wouldn't have been as open minded as you."

"Even with proof, this will be difficult for some to accept. The Vigil stands today because of the commander's actions."

Right. And the city didn't. "There are dead still inside the mine. Will you need us to show you the way?"

Garevel shook his head. "No, we have Wardens who know the mine all too well. When we get back to the Vigil, a party will return with some of the carts to recover those who perished, but my thanks for the offer."

"Tell them…the body of a Warden lies in the Architect's rooms. His name was Riordan."

"Riordan? The Warden who died bringing the archdemon to ground?"

Alistair nodded.

Garevel squinted at him. "How can that be? And why?"

"You don't want to know." Alistair's stomach tightened at the memory. "You really, really don't."

"Ah."

"Take a mage into the mines. There's magic involved with…his preservation. I don't even know if he can be moved without one. We didn't try."

The captain nodded. "I just can't understand…." He shook his head. "No matter. Whatever reasons the commander may have had for dealing with such a monster, they don't change anything, do they? Warden Senga is still dead, and many others who are mourned by their kin."

Senga. Now Alistair had a name to put with the face of the woman whose life Avernus had taken.

Garevel asked no questions about the manner of her death, for which Alistair was intensely grateful. It was a horrific way to die, and one that he really didn't know if he'd ever be able to completely forgive himself for being involved with, even unwillingly.

As the wounded were moved out of the tents, Alistair and Oghren packed things up, and soon they were on their way—like turtles. Ox carts were excruciatingly slow.

Since all the members of their party had been brought back to relative health over the course of the night, Alistair decided that they should go on ahead, rather than go crazy trying to match the pace of the oxen.

They kept a leisurely pace and stopped for meals. Arriving at the Vigil too far ahead of those who could verify what had happened didn't seem like the best idea, and it was early evening by the time the Keep was visible in the distance.

Alistair raised a hand. "Let's stop here and wait for the carts to catch up."

They didn't bother leaving the road to build a fire. The evening was warm, and it would be no more than a couple of hours before the carts caught up to them.

Instead, they sat on a fallen tree by the side of the road, and Alistair took out a bottle of wine that Leliana had brought with the new supplies from the Vigil. Their task was just about done—all they had to do was convince the Wardens that Kallian was a problem, then they could deal with her, and thank the Maker for that. Alistair wanted to mark the occasion in a small way.

Handing a cup to Anders, Alistair said, "Anders, tell me about Varel. Is he an Orlesian Warden?" He filled the rest of their cups and passed them out, while wondering just how much support Kallian had, and how many might agree with her choices.

"No, he's not a Warden at all, but he might as well be. He gets that kind of trust from Weisshaupt. They even have him doing Joinings, so I think it's safe to say there isn't much he isn't privy to." Anders shrugged. "I really can't say why that would be. Varel was Howe's seneschal and spent most of the war in the Vigil's dungeons after objecting to the things Howe did. He's a good man, and a brave one, but you wouldn't think that would be enough, although he seems completely loyal to the Wardens."

He looked at Alistair. "He'll give the evidence fair hearing, if that's what you're asking, and he won't be keen on Avernus's blood magic, whatever reasons Kallian comes up with."

"What about the others in the keep? There must be some who'll side with her out of loyalty, or will agree with her about the ends justifying what she's done."

Anders nodded. "Some, yes, and she seemed to go out of her way to choose the kind of new Wardens who wouldn't much care what she did, so that adds to the number. And there will be some who believe that they owe her their lives, because she mounted such a brilliant defense of the Vigil—and there's no denying that she did that. She's revered by the Silver Order. Oh, that's what people have taken to calling the keep's soldiers—'the Silver Order'—after their silverite armor.

"Not all feel that way, though, either warden or soldier, and maybe not most. There's been a fair amount of muttering about her leadership since she spared the Architect, and left the city to fall unaided. There were no few Wardens and soldiers who believe that the keep has a duty to the city whether the arl is a noble or a Warden, especially those who had loved ones in the city.

"While Wardens are supposed to leave their pasts behind, they're still Fereldans, and it's likely that more will find the idea of making deals with darkspawn and blood mages damned unsettling than will find it admirably pragmatic."

Oghren belched. "That's not pragmatic, that's stupid. Your queen, now she's pragmatic. Kallian's a few logs short of a sodding raft."

Shaking her head, Leliana said, "No, Kallian is one of the smartest people I've ever met. She just doesn't care what happens, if it gets her what she wants. No wonder she was always so sure of herself."

Reaching for the bottle, Anders poured the last of the wine into his cup. "I think it's more complicated than that, but in any case, let's not forget how persuasive Kallian can be. If we'd just walked in making accusations, it might not have gone very well. But we have witnesses, and the fact that Varel has Kallian and Velanna locked up until we arrive probably means he's inclined to see things our way."

"Right. That's a good sign." Alistair turned to Lis. She was scowling into her cup of wine. "You've been to the keep, Lis. What do you think?"

She lifted her gaze to meet his and lifted an eyebrow. "I wasn't impressed, remember? I thought about gutting you with a dinner knife over it." Her mouth pulled to one side. "I'm willing to admit that I might have been a bit judgmental. You turned out to be fairly nice."

"Fairly nice? Wow, my heart overflows."

Lis gave him a smile that absolutely took his breath away.

Taking a sip of his wine, Alistair looked at the keep down the road. By this time tomorrow—if all went well—he'd have to go to Denerim to report to Anora. There'd be no putting it off.

The safe thing to do would be to send her a letter and disappear. It would be easy to catch a ship from here, to start running again, but he didn't want to live like that, anymore. He didn't want to leave Lis, or worse, ask her to leave her brother and country. Would she even come if he asked? He'd like to think so, but... He wanted a real future, the kind that included living in one place, and sharing a home, the kind of future that he'd dismissed before. It might be possible, mightn't it? Stranger things had happened….

Alistair drained his cup and stood, feeling restless. He started walking up and down the small stretch of road they occupied. While his mind should have been on what he was going to say to Varel and the Wardens, he couldn't seem to pull his thoughts away from Anora and what she might have planned for him, running through scenario after scenario, from impossibly rosy to all too possibly bleak.

It was a relief when Anders stood and pointed up the road.

"There they are. Andraste's knickers! Just in time, Templar-King. If I had to watch you pace much longer, I'd have frozen you solid and put you to sleep, besides."

Ignoring Anders, Alistair picked up his pack. "Let's go. We'll have just enough time to do introductions and get to the exciting bit before the carts arrive. Let's not keep Kallian waiting."

* * *

The Vigil's portcullis rose as they approached. The fact that it had been down during peacetime was unusual, and a testament to the turmoil that must reign within.

They crossed the courtyard to where a dark-haired soldier, flanked by a dozen men waited. She nodded to Anders before turning to Alistair. "Seneschal Varel awaits you inside, ser." Gesturing to a second portcullis at the entrance to the keep, she said. "I am Sergeant Maverlies. Please follow me."

The men she led fell in behind their group. Alistair tried to think of it as a polite escort, not an implied threat, but he thought he might be kidding himself. It was probably both. It would seem that while Varel was willing acknowledge the possibility that their charges were valid, he wasn't just going to take them at their word, either.

Maverlies took them through the second portcullis, and up a steep flight of stairs, through corridor after corridor, until they finally reached a splendid hall hung with griffon banners, the light of the setting sun pouring in through large windows set high in the ceiling.

Every Warden in the Vigil seemed to be gathered there.

Alistair felt a flutter of nerves. This could go very badly if loyalty to the Warden-Commander won out over evidence, or if enough of this group agreed with her actions. But…they couldn't agree. They just couldn't…could they? Yes, the Grey Wardens did extreme things to fight a Blight, but not for themselves. Not for selfish reasons. Not for personal gain.

He pushed down a treacherous thought that he didn't really know what Wardens did everywhere, he could only judge the Wardens he'd known, an honorable group—small in number, but large in heart and courage—and all dead. He knew nothing of these people. Alistair reminded himself that Riordan had also been an honorable man, and there was no reason to suppose the rest of the Orlesian Wardens, the Wardens of Weisshaupt, or these new Ferelden Wardens, weren't equally honorable

Maker, he was getting ahead of himself to no good purpose. Focus….

A grey haired man in silverite armor stood at the other end of the hall in front of an elaborate throne. That must be Varel.

Crossing the room, Alistair stopped in front of the man, raised a fist to his chest and bowed his head. "Seneschal Varel?"

"And you must be Alistair." The man repeated his salute. "Welcome to the Vigil, Warden."

"Thank you for sending Captain Garevel to help evacuate everyone, Seneschal Varel. The carts are right behind us and should arrive shortly. I don't know how we would have done it without your aid. Some are in very poor shape."

"How many are there?"

"Of the civilians who survived, four males, five females and three children—two boys and a girl."

Varel shook his head. "Children…."

"Two templars, a man and a woman, and you likely already know which Wardens were missing, but…four men survive, and one woman. Captain Garevel told me that the Warden who was killed by the blood mage was Senga."

Voices rose throughout the room. Alistair looked around at grim, shocked faces, at a woman whose hands now covered her face, muffling her sobs, and felt his worry abate. Avernus had harmed one of their own, and by extension, so had Kallian and Velanna. The Wardens wouldn't ignore that, he was sure of it—or as sure as he was of anything these days.

He turned back to Varel. "How much do you know about the expulsion of the Grey Wardens from Ferelden?"

Varel's eyebrows rose. "Old history, indeed. That plays into this?"

Alistair nodded. "Bear with me."

"All right, but let us keep this discussion to those who are already privy to Warden secrets." Varel gestured to the woman who'd escorted them. "Thank you, Sergeant. You and your men may return to the gate."

Maverlies raised her fist to her chest in a salute, and left the hall, followed by the rest of the soldiers.

Varel looked at Lis, Leliana and Oghren, meeting the gaze of each. "I mean no disrespect, but I'm afraid that this discussion may move to topics that are only for Warden ears."

He nodded to one of the Wardens. "Please show our visitors to the guest quarters and return here once their needs have been met."

As they were lead from the room, Lis looked at Alistair, her eyes tight and worried.

He smiled, trying to look more relaxed and confident than he felt, and was rewarded by an answering smile, although it was slight. Lis turned away and followed the Warden from the room.

Varel waited until only Wardens remained, then said, "I know that the Wardens were accused of conspiring against the king of Ferelden which was why they only returned at Maric's invitation."

"And they were, apparently. We…well, I won't get into all of it, but the king at the time, Arland, seems to have been something worse than a tyrant. The records we found spoke of a man whose behavior was so extreme and variable that I have to wonder if he wasn't possessed in some way, by a malignant spirit—or maybe even a demon.

"The Warden-Commander at the time, Sophia Dryden took up arms against him, and the Wardens were besieged at their fortress. It's in the mountains between here and Highever.

"In desperation, Sophia ordered the mage, Avernus, to breach the veil and command demons to attack the intruders."

His eyes widening, Varel said, "Demons? But that's—"

"A very bad idea, yes. The worst idea possible. The demons were about as easy to control as you'd think, and attacked both sides. Sophia Dryden was possessed. The soldiers and Wardens who were killed became walking undead.

"Avernus retreated to his tower along with the surviving Wardens. He raised undead of his own to guard the tower. He turned to blood magic to keep the demons confined to the Keep, and to extend his own life.

His mouth twisting, Alistair said, "The Wardens who were with him…. He killed all of them, horrible deaths that he excused the same way he tried to excuse what he did here, as necessary and for a greater good. He used them for blood magic and to increase his power.

"We killed the demons and the undead, letting Avernus repair the tears in the veil, with our help. Kallian thought he might be useful to the Wardens, and that it would be a good idea to find out how he'd staved off the taint for the better part of two hundred years.

Alistair crossed his arms, and looked away, remembering the heat of his anger at Kallian's decision. "I disagreed. There was only one justice that was acceptable for Avernus. He raised demons. He not only used blood magic, he killed his brothers and sisters to do it—but Kallian thought the risk was worth it." He shook his head. "_Worth it_."

He looked back toward Varel. "Avernus promised to work without doing harm in future, at her order. I don't know when or how he resumed his old ways, if it was without Kallian's knowledge at first, or if she ordered it at some point, but she knew exactly what he was doing.

"She not only saw it with her own eyes at Soldier's Peak, but she brought him people for his experiments—unfortunates afflicted by the taint. There may have been others as well. I know of at least one.

"When discovery was imminent, she took him from there and brought him to Amaranthine. Kallian was seen with him in the silverite mine, as the former prisoners will attest, and Velanna aided him willingly, escaping as we killed Avernus."

Alistair frowned. "It's common knowledge that Kallian and I have an unpleasant past history, and were I to come to you with this by myself, and without witnesses, I would understand if you found it difficult to believe, but…I swear this has nothing to do with anyone's history but Avernus's."

Varel turned away, his hand on his forehead, rubbing his lined brow. "Andraste's mercy."

He decided to let the seneschal deal with what he'd heard in his own time, and cast his gaze around the room.

Anders had his arms crossed and was frowning at his feet. He probably hadn't heard that whole story before. Kallian certainly wouldn't have told him. He probably hated hearing about mages meeting people's worst expectations so utterly.

Most of the Wardens were talking—in pairs, in groups—some horrified, some angry, and some…well, their lack of reaction was troublesome. And there were Wardens whose posture and expression seemed to show an unwillingness to believe what they'd heard.

Varel spoke, giving an order to a Warden who waited nearby. "Bring the commander and Velanna." He looked at Alistair. "They must be allowed to answer these charges and offer what defense they can."

A few minutes later, Kallian and the elven mage were brought into the room, unshackled, which Alistair thought was risky, to say the least, but surrounded by Warden guards.

Kallian's lips curled when she saw him. "So, the foresworn Warden returns to the fold, no doubt expecting acceptance after abandoning the field."

Not wanting to engage in personal tit of tat with Kallian, Alistair made no response, but looked at Varel and turned a hand, indicating a willingness to let him ask the questions.

The seneschal gave him a nod, and took a step toward Kallian and Velanna. "Commander, did you knowingly allow a blood mage to experiment on the people of this arling, on templars, and on your own brothers and sisters? Velanna, did you willingly aid Avernus in these acts?"

Lifting an eyebrow, Kallian said, "Your questions are framed by Alistair's ignorance. I sought an end to the taint that plagues us, for the good of the Wardens, and to aid our struggle against the darkspawn and future Blights." She lifted her arms and looked around the room. "Did I not do everything I could to save this keep and defend against invasion? Did I not keep the taint from spreading across Amaranthine, and further, to the rest of Ferelden? Did I not diminish the danger of the Blight itself, sending the darkspawn further underground than they've been for hundreds of years?"

She dropped her arms. "The results of my efforts are undeniable. The Deep Roads are so quiet, the dwarves are retaking thaigs. Raids by darkspawn have nearly stopped. We may never again suffer from a Blight of the same magnitude as the last. And yet, there are still sporadic outbreaks of the taint. What if we could offer the people of Ferelden a cure? The acceptance of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden would never again be in question.

"What if Grey Wardens lived normal life spans, rather than losing our most experienced and able commanders to the taint? Even better, what if our lives could be extended even longer, maybe to the point that Wardens with experience with a Blight could still be alive to train raw recruits at the beginning of the next? What if the Joining was not a death sentence, but a gift?

"Yes, these things come at a cost. A cost like letting the city burn to prevent the spread of the taint, or dealing with the Architect for a chance to end the Blight. I don't deny that these things are unpalatable. But Wardens must be strong. We must be vigilant. We must protect Thedas regardless of the cost.

Kallian flung an arm toward Alistair. "This man is no true Warden. He doesn't understand that we must do whatever is necessary, no matter what sacrifice that entails. He can't comprehend that we are not shackled by the conventions of the templars from which he came, or the prejudices of the nobility. He is but a narrow-minded fool who would keep us from reaching our true potential and power by limiting ourselves as he is limited, making the Wardens as weak and inadequate as he is himself."

Closing her outstretched arm into a fist, Kallian raised her voice so that it rang clear and loud through the room. "Alistair Theirin abandoned the Wardens when he was needed most. Rather than allow me to recruit Ferelden's greatest general, the man who killed the archdemon and ended the Blight, he tried to quit the field. The only reason he didn't is that I wouldn't allow it, insisting that the queen execute him for his desertion. He couldn't even face that like a man, instead fleeing his deserved fate. If anyone is judged guilty here, it should be him, for killing a powerful Warden mage, who needed only time to make the Grey Wardens greater than they have ever been before. Alistair Theirin is the traitor who must be brought to justice!"

Alistair listened to the muttering in the room rise to a roar, saw heads turning toward him and nodding, saw the space between him and the Warden's of the Vigil growing smaller by the moment, and his stomach clenched.

Andraste's flaming sword, Kallian had lost none of her ability to sway a crowd. Now what?

Alistair raised his voice to be heard over the growing clamor. "So we become like the Imperium? Using our power with impunity while calling it service to the people? Shall we be like Orlesian chevaliers, only taking lives instead of wives and daughters and acting like it's just the way things are done? Where does it stop? How soon would it be until we no longer even see the line we're crossing?

"We don't let blood mages use people the way Tevinter mages do, and that's what Kallian is asking you to accept—that she and Avernus had the right to use people they considered expendable for their own ends. It's wrong, and each and every one of you _knows_ it's wrong!"

He didn't back away from the crowd, but walked closer to them, staring into the eyes of the men and women closest to him. "We're Fereldans, blast it! We don't have absolute rulers. We don't have slavery. Our people are free—noble, commoner or elf."

The crowd grew quiet once more. They were listening, at least. Alistair went into the crowd and stopped, meeting the gaze of each person around him, his anger adding force to his words.

"Are we perfect, does every noble live up to their duty to serve their people? No, we aren't and they don't. Some aren't worthy to be Fereldans, but on the whole, we try to be a just society, and it's the fact that we _try_ that sets apart from places like Antiva, Orlais and the Imperium. That ideal is our greatest strength and is worth striving for even if there are some who would toss it aside for power or greed.

"We aren't just Grey Wardens, we're Fereldan Wardens, and we have a duty to both those things. Fereldans have a right to expect the same loyalty from those who rule over them that they give, and Kallian _ruled_ this arling. What has been done here is wrong in ways I shouldn't even have to name!

Alistair noticed a group of men, quiet, but standing with their arms crossed, frowning. That wasn't good. He'd better step it up a little.

Pointing to the throne on the dais behind Varel, Alistair raised his voice again. "We don't accept the right of an arl to act on every desire. A Fereldan noble serves the people, not the other way around, and if they don't, we rejoice when they're brought to justice, as Rendon Howe was brought to justice for his crimes."

He swung his arm to point at Kallian. "Kallian wasn't just supposed to be looking out for the Wardens, or fighting darkspawn, she was supposed to be protecting the people of this arling, but she abandoned them to Avernus's evil.

Turning up his hands, Alistair said, "She owed allegiance to the Wardens of this keep, and she abandoned them to Avernus, as well. Her previous victories don't change that, or excuse it. There is no excuse, no necessity great enough to condone what she's done.

There were nods from some of the Wardens. That was encouraging, but was it enough? Maybe not. He'd have to deal with her accusations against him.

"She put her goals over her duty—" Alistair spread his arms as voices in the crowd grew louder again. Kallian's charge of desertion had been heard all too well. "And she says that I did the same. In that…she's right, but only in that."

He dropped his arms. "I had a duty to fight the archdemon, and I would not have been able to do so, even had she not tried to have me killed after giving the throne to Anora, forcing me to flee the country."

Kallian's voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd. "You chose your fate, Alistair. You have no one to blame but yourself. It was you who—"

"That's enough." Varel stopped her. "You had your chance to speak, Kallian. If you interrupt again, I will have you removed from the hall."

Alistair gave Varel a nod, then continued. "Kallian spared the man whom I believed responsible for the death of every Grey Warden in Ferelden, for the death of the king, and gave him the greatest honor I can think of—becoming a Grey Warden.

"Loghain didn't deserve that honor, he deserved no mercy. He deserved only execution. I believed that then, and I still do. In my rage, I _would_ have left. I could no more march into battle beside Loghain and call him brother, than I could stand the sight of all those at the Landsmeet who accepted Kallian's actions, her betrayal of the Wardens who died at Ostagar, and of King Cailan."

Alistair turned in place, looking around the room, at all the Wardens. "If you can't forgive that, I understand. I have trouble forgiving myself. I'm not perfect, either. But I've always _tried_ to do the right thing, the honorable thing, and I always will.

"Kallian takes all that Fereldans believe to be right and honorable, and tells us these things can be put aside if the reason is great enough. I say _no_—they can't. These things are as vital and worthy of protection as the people themselves. I leave it to you to decide what you believe."

Turning his back on the crowd of Wardens—a difficult thing in a room full of armed men and women who might decide they wished to use those weapons—Alistair walked back toward Varel, stopping beside Anders. "Anything to add, Anders?"

Anders raised his eyebrows. "Me? You want a mage to sway public opinion? You astonish me." He stepped forward and cleared his throat dramatically, then spoke, waving a hand toward Alistair. "What he said, only less 'Ferelden,' more 'blood magic is bad.'

"Some of the things we found in that mine…. I won't turn your stomachs by going into gory details, but let's just say 'bad' really doesn't begin to cover it. In the last few months, I discovered things that made me want to risk my neck to stand against Kallian.

"You people know me. You know how much I value my neck. That should give you a hint about the kind of bad I'm talking about, and Avernus wasn't the only one doing things that will have templar's knickers in a twist." Waggling his fingers at Velanna, Anders said, "Don't think I didn't notice the blood magic, Velanna. Naughty, naughty."

He stepped back next to Alistair again. "There you go. Helpful as you'd hoped?"

"Oh, more. Believe me." Alistair lifted an eyebrow and let Anders see a hint of a smile. "You have more credibility than I do, I have no doubt."

He turned away and went back to Varel. "That's it."

There was a commotion near the back of the room, and Alistair saw Leith, the only Warden who'd been conscious in the mine, along with the other Warden prisoners. The appeared much recovered, although one had a limp that looked like it might stay with him without some serious magical intervention, and another was holding her side as though movement was still painful.

The crowd parted to let them through, and they came to stand next to Alistair, Leith in front, the others behind him.

Leith looked at his fellow Wardens, his gaze passing over Kallian as though she wasn't there. "We owe our lives to this man and to Anders, as well as the rest of their companions. Avernus and Velanna killed Senga, and almost killed the rest of us. If Anders wasn't such a good healer, there'd be fewer of us returned from the mine.

"I don't know what they told you about the things that happened in there, but whatever they said, it was worse. Much worse. And the commander just let it happen. She let that blood mage do unspeakable…." Leith's voice grew choked and he had to pause for a moment before continuing. "I…that's all I have to say. They're telling the truth. You can believe what they say." He moved back to stand beside Alistair.

Varel stepped forward. "All of you know I was seneschal to Rendon Howe. Most of you know that I was demoted for objecting to his orders. A few of you know that I took in victims of his actions, and did my best to counteract what I could. Sometimes I was successful, sometimes not, but eventually, I ended up in the dungeon of this keep. I trust that I don't have to explain what happened there.

"I did not agree to become seneschal to the Wardens to relive the experience. Kallian cannot remain Warden-Commander in light of these charges. Leith and the other Wardens who suffered at Avernus's hands cannot be asked to serve under her. The people of Amaranthine will not accept her rule when all becomes known."

Maker's breath. Much as Alistair appreciated Varel's support, he hadn't expected the man to draw a line in the sand and stand with his toes half across it.

A gray-haired woman wearing practical garments walked over to them. "If I might suggest…sending them to Weisshaupt might be the best course of action. Let the First Warden decide their fate. Here, it would have to wait until a new Warden-Commander is appointed, and the situation could become difficult if the Chantry becomes involved. It would set an unfortunate precedent to allow the Chantry to bring their own charges against a Warden and Warden-Commander, but a confrontation over something so easily avoided would be equally unfortunate."

Varel nodded. "Thank you, Mistress Woolsey. That's an excellent suggestion." He glanced at Alistair. "Mistress Woolsey was sent to the keep by Weisshaupt to oversee financial affairs, and is frequently a great help to us, as you can see."

Turning to the Wardens guarding Kallian and Velanna, Varel said, "Take them to the cell near the gates. Out of respect for past service, they will await transport there, rather than in the lower dungeon."

Kallian stepped forward, lines of anger marking her forehead. "You don't have the right, Varel. I am Warden-Commander, and you aren't even a Warden. Only Weisshaupt can remove me from command."

Varel frowned. "I'm saddened that it came to this, but I ran this keep before you arrived, and I will do so until a new commander is appointed. Your actions have made it impossible for you to continue here, either as commander, or as arlessa. The First Warden can decide what to do with you both. If he wishes to discipline me for over-reaching, so be it." He nodded at one of the Wardens. "Take them away."

Her face flushed, Kallian shook off the grip of a Warden who tried to grab her arm. "Let go of me. I'm your commander, and you betray me for a gutless coward." She looked out over the crowd. "Will you let them do this? I can make you the strongest power in Ferelden—in Thedas! Stand with me, and you will live lives of greatness, unfettered by small minds and childish fears!"

Alistair shook his head. "That's probably just what the mages who stormed the Golden City said." Alistair crossed his arms, staring at her beautiful face—the last time he'd see it, hopefully. "This is more of a chance than you gave me, Kallian. And to be honest, more of one than I would have given you. Accept it with some grace."

"Like the grace you showed at the Landsmeet, Alistair? The grace of ultimatums and self-centered demands?

Keeping a firm grip on his temper, Alistair gave her a thin smile, lifting an eyebrow. "Goodbye, Kallian. It's been…interesting. No fun at all, and loaded with evil, but interesting."

"You know that's not true, Alistair. I remember nights when—"

Yes, this was just what he wanted to discuss in front of a room full of Wardens, but Kallian knew it would make him uncomfortable. He wouldn't give her the pleasure of letting it show. "At the time. But in retrospect, it's just like a nightmare where you find that the beautiful woman you're holding is actually a monster. Chilling, really. Go away, Kallian. There's nothing between us. Turns out, there never was."

Waving a hand sharply, Alistair looked at the guards who flanked her. "Get her out of here."

He watched as Kallian was led from the room and into the hall beyond, his mouth set tight. Alistair hoped this was enough, that the Wardens of Weisshaupt wouldn't just send her to another post, but it was Varel's call and his part was done. Kallian could do no more harm to Ferelden. Now she was Weisshaupt's problem—Andraste's mercy on them all.


	25. Chapter 25

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page.

* * *

The crowd had drawn back in silence as Kallian and Velanna were led from the building, then slowly started to disperse. Some followed them into the courtyard, some went further into the keep, but most stayed, speculating about Weisshaupt's reaction, greeting the newly returned Wardens, or debating points of the arguments they'd heard.

Over all, they seemed to agree with Varel's decision, which was a relief to Alistair. The last think he wanted was to cause problems for the seneschal who'd stood with him in a way that must have been difficult.

The Wardens who'd been frowning at him as he addressed the crowd approached, still frowning. They stopped in front of him, all large men, and one spoke, his face set in harsh lines. "Warden. We are grateful for your rescue of our brothers and sister, but you should know that Ferelden holds no monopoly on honor. We of the Free Marches know a thing or two about it."

Alistair felt his cheeks flush. Blast. In his eagerness to rally the crowd, he hadn't thought that they might not all be Fereldan, and had offended. "I…sorry. I know that's true, and it was good of you to come to our aid. I'll remember that in future."

The man let his stern expression slip and slapped Alistair on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger, letting out a laugh. "See that you do. And be glad that there aren't any Orlesian or Antivan Wardens here!"

The Free Marchers walked away, grinning, and Alistair let out a breath. Thank the Maker, they'd been more interested in tweaking him than genuinely offended. He would have been sorry to have done such a thing. And there _could_ have been Orlesian Wardens here. Antivans were unlikely, but…. He really needed to think more before he got angry and just let things fly out of his mouth.

Seeing Varel approach, Alistair smiled. "Seneschal."

"Warden." Varel looked at Alistair intently. "You _are_ still a Grey Warden, you know, and welcome in this keep, should you decide to return. It doesn't matter what you might have done, had you not been under sentence of death, or even exiled.

"In truth, Wardens leave more often than you probably think, although it's not spoken of. They tire of fighting darkspawn, or fall in love—any number of things, but they almost always return. They miss the bond they share with their brothers and sisters. They miss the feeling that they're doing something vital. They miss the action. Mostly they miss being among those who know what it is to live with the taint." He put a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Would you like to return, Alistair?"

"I…don't know that I can, not in Ferelden, anyway. The queen brought me back to find out what Avernus and Kallian were doing, and now that I have…."

Varel drew back his hand. "I could send the queen a message that you are with the Wardens again, and not subject to her summons."

Alistair laughed. "I can just picture her face on reading that!" He shook his head, letting his gaze wander to the Wardens in the room, all strangers to him. It wouldn't be the same. "No, but thank you. If getting into a confrontation with the Chantry over Kallian is a bad idea, going head to head with Anora over me is just as chancy. I may have been gone for a long time, but I'm still too much of a Warden to let you risk that."

"Is that all that holds you back? If it's the lady who travels with you—not that I'm making any assumptions—she would be welcome, too. I recognize her and have heard tales of her battle skills. You must know that she would make a superb Grey Warden."

Alistair turned his head toward Varel sharply, frowning. "No!" He tossed a hand up. "I mean, yes, I know she would, I thought so myself when I first met her, but…no." He looked at Varel again. "If there was a Blight, that would be different. It would be necessary, and a duty, but not now."

"If she made the decision on her own, would you stand in her way?"

"Of course not, but I won't suggest it, either, and I ask that you don't."

"I will honor your wish, although I regret it." Varel raised a hand toward Alistair. "There's something else you should think about. You're the most senior Warden in Ferelden. Once Kallian is gone, you'll be the only Warden who was at Ostagar. It's quite possible that the First Warden will want you to become Warden-Commander."

"What! No…that's ridiculous. I've been gone for three years while other people did the heavy lifting. You have new Wardens with more knowledge of the current situation, and of Amaranthine."

"We do, but the situation is unusual. The Warden-Commander isn't just the leader of the Wardens anymore, he or she rules here, as you said. With all that Avernus did, and with Kallian turning a blind eye at the very least, the Wardens will lose much of the trust they gained, especially in light of the burning of the city, and the suppression of the food riots. Kallian was not gentle. The most viable senior candidate is a dwarf, but it will be some time before another non-human will be accepted."

"That's as ridiculous as the idea of making me Warden-Commander. They can't blame all the elves for Kallian, and they certainly can't blame the dwarves. It's completely unfair."

"There's unfair, and then there's realistic. That can't be news to you. It was surprising that they accepted an elven arlessa in the first place. It would never have happened if she hadn't been the hero of Ferelden, and it will be a long time before it happens again."

"Maybe that's true—unpleasant, but true…. There must be someone else."

Varel shrugged. "The most senior human Wardens are Anders, a mage and former apostate, and Nathaniel, a Howe whose family was removed from power in this arling very recently, and by the ruling queen.

"Anders can't rule as an arl, obviously, let alone command what amounts to a small but very powerful army. The Chantry would be up in arms.

"As for Nathaniel, old resentments and loyalties are still to close to the surface. We've already had one attempted coup by Howe loyalists, and those who openly supported Kallian would fear retaliation if a Howe were to appear to rule again, Warden or not. The politics are too murky. If the wardens are to rule here, it's best that we have a clear break from the Howes. To do otherwise invites confusion that could sew discontent.

"Neither Anders nor Nathaniel are feasible candidates. And you would still have seniority."

Anders joined them. "Did I hear my name?" His eyebrows rose. "Nothing uncomplimentary, I hope."

"Varel doesn't think you should become Warden-Commander."

"Andraste's flaming knickers! Neither do I!" He looked at Alistair. "They'll probably pick you, Templar King, then I'll have to call you 'Templar-Commander-King."

"Templar-King?" Varel looked at Alistair as though he wasn't sure of what to make of that.

Alistair grimaced. "Not my idea. Anders likes to be irritating, but I'm guessing you know that."

Varel smiled. "I do, indeed. In fact, he—"

There was a loud roar like a cross between an avalanche, and a qunari weapon Alistair had once seen demonstrated. It came from deeper in the keep. The ground shook beneath Alistair's feet. "Maker! What…?"

Varel yelled above the sound. "Explosives—a new dwarven weapon."

A weapon, but in the keep, not in the courtyard…. A diversion. This was Kallian's doing, and just her style. Alistair ran out of the hall, and down the first couple of corridors, then had to stop, lost in the maze of rooms and hallways.

Anders sped past him. "This way!"

When they finally got to the portcullis that opened onto the courtyard, it was down.

"I'll go raise it. Wait here." Anders ran back up the stairs, disappearing into the large room that was the first line of defense.

There were bodies around an open door across the courtyard, and Wardens fighting Wardens in front of those. He could hear fighting by the gate, Kallian's final obstacle to escape but his view was blocked, he could only see the towers above. "Hurry, Anders!"

Then he heard the sound of the dwarven weapon again, but this time he could see what it did. The guard towers over the gate…disintegrated. They were just _gone_ in a cloud of smoke, fire, and debris. Things were flying through the air—pieces of the portcullis, chunks of stone…. People—or parts of them.

Maker's breath. These explosives were an awful thing. Or a very good thing. It probably depended on who had the explosives, but…. Alistair couldn't help but think that it might be better if they'd never been invented. "Anders!"

"Yelling won't help, Templar-King. I haven't been taking a little nap." Anders appeared beside him. "The crank for the portcullis has been sabotaged. I tried to fix it, but it's beyond me."

"Blast it!" Alistair stared into the courtyard. It was quiet now. Kallian was escaping and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. He leaned his head against the portcullis. "Piss and blood."

* * *

They ran back to the hall as fast as they'd left. By the time the portcullis was opened, Kallian would be long gone, but there might be survivors of the escape who could still be helped.

The beautiful room was becoming a makeshift infirmary, with wounded being placed in an alcove on one side.

Anders went straight to work, leaving Alistair to report to Varel.

There was a crowd around the seneschal, all wanting his attention as he dealt with matters in the order of importance, so Alistair spoke to Captain Garevel, who stood nearby giving orders to his soldiers.

"Kallian's gone, along with the Wardens who supported her. They used explosives to open the gate. The inner portcullis was sabotaged—from the inside, Garevel."

"Blast!"

"Yeah, that's a problem—and the gate will need to be repaired before we can get to the wounded in the courtyard."

Garevel grabbed the arm of a soldier to countermand his previous order. "Forget clearing the staircase. Take some men to the inner gate and get that portcullis open. Bring the wounded here."

The soldier saluted. "Yes, Ser."

"Staircase? What was damaged?" Alistair watched as two more wounded soldiers were carried in.

"The explosion was on the upper level. It brought down most of the roof in one wing, and part of the floor, which collapsed into a barracks below. Luckily, the soldiers had enough warning of the collapse that most were able to escape, and we had no difficulty in accessing the room to carry the few wounded out quickly.

"Debris is blocking the staircase up to the main blast area, however, so we haven't been able to get up there. It was in the guest quarters, but since—"

The guest quarters…Lis!

Alistair raced toward the door he'd seen Lis go through earlier, darting around Varel, and cutting in front of a soldier carrying a box of potions.

He saw the box start to fall and spun around in time to grab it.

Garevel yelled something, but Alistair was too busy trying to stay upright to pay attention. He was still off balance, and teetering on one leg when he heard Lis's voice.

She sounded irritated—and very alive. "We need more men at the staircase to move that beam…or have we decided not to bother?"

Righting himself, Alistair got his other foot on the ground, and shoved the box into the man's arms. He crossed the distance between them in about three steps, which shouldn't have been possible, and threw his arms around her, catching a glimpse of a startled expression before he pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. "Maker! I thought you were caught in the explosion. I saw what that does to people when the gate blew up in the courtyard."

He loosened his arms so he could look at her. "You're all right?"

Lis touched his face. "I'm fine, Alistair. Didn't—"

"Oghren? Leliana?"

"They're fine, too, but—"

"Maker's breath, when Garevel said the explosion was in the guest quarters—"

Lis put a finger to his lips. "Alistair, didn't anyone tell you we were safe? They were supposed to." She brushed her hand across his cheek. "I didn't want you to worry."

"They tried." Garevel walked up behind them, followed by Anders. "I see now that I should have started with that, but I didn't expect him to react so quickly. I even tried shouting across the room, but that didn't work, either."

"He was too busy with that nimble display of running, acrobatics and juggling. And now this." Anders waved a hand toward Alistair and Lis. "Here I thought you were shy, Templar-King."

Oh…sod it. He'd been thinking about Lis, not the fact that he was in a room full of people. Alistair glanced around and saw no few eyes watching, accompanied by smiles. He started to step away from Lis, but she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"After a day like today, a little happiness is a good thing. Don't worry, Alistair. First smart comment and I feed them to the darkspawn. "

Alistair leaned close to her ear and whispered, "This is why I love you ." He kissed her cheek. "But now I have to go be wardeny."

Garevel smiled. "What I was _trying_ to say, is that since no one was in the guest quarters when the explosion occurred, the few men that remained in the barracks are all the wounded we expect to find, other than any we find in the courtyard. I'm sure those who placed the explosives hoped for a different outcome. If the wing had collapsed, as it might have before the improvements, this would have been much worse,"

"Well, that's good news, but I doubt it was a miscalculation. Kallian knew about the improvements, right? And they could have planted the explosives under this hall. I think she meant it as a diversion, not an attack, but if there was a possibility of killing me, or my friends, that would have pleased her, so…guest quarters." Alistair moved away from Lis. "Any idea how many people Kallian took with her?"

"Not yet, but we're doing a head count now. Once we've reached the upper level and checked for unexpected casualties, we'll have everyone identified.

"Except our unknown saboteur—assuming there's only one." Anders lifted an eyebrow. "Which we really shouldn't."

"The seneschal will figure it out. He's very good at that sort of thing. We can rule out everyone who was in the hall at the time, and then start figuring out who was seen where. Once we've narrowed the field, Varel will question them. He doesn't have to lay a finger on them to make them talk. I don't know how he does it."

Alistair nodded. "I just hope it doesn't take too long. You can't even lock the gate to make sure no one leaves."

His lip curling, Garevel said, "I'd rather have them leave, than here and unidentified, to tell you the truth."

Lis looked from Alistair to Garevel. "That's all well and good, but I still need men to move that roof beam out of the staircase. It's keeping us from moving further up."

Alistair hiked a thumb through the archway and glanced at Garevel. "Is there something else I should be doing, or can I go help?"

"Go. I'll let you know if we find any survivors in the courtyard, and if any of them can talk."

Garevel beckoned two of the nearby soldiers. "Leave what you're doing and go with these two. Their orders are my orders."

He crooked a finger toward Anders. "Come. Tell me about the wounded. Do you need more supplies?"

As Anders and Garevel left them, Alistair smiled at Lis. "Lead on, my dear. Your desire is my command."

She grinned. "Maybe later. Right now we have to go move rocks."

* * *

Alistair leaned his head back on the stone ledge that surrounded the bath in his room. He was stiff and exhausted. Tomorrow, he fully expected that sore would be added to the list.

Maker, he spent every day walking in full armor, and swinging a sword and shield around. How could moving beams, rock and plaster be so different?

But then, maybe it wasn't clearing the debris. Maybe it was facing off against Kallian. His shoulders had been knotted so tightly, he'd thought he might break something.

Or maybe it was that the beam they'd moved had been made to hold up a castle.

He let himself slip forward until his head was under water, then sat up and grabbed the bar of soap from the ledge, rubbing it on his hair.

It had taken a couple of hours to clear a path to the upper floor. They were just starting to move into the upper hall when Garevel had appeared with group of soldiers to replace them, and ordered them to go eat and sleep.

The expression on Lis's face had been priceless. Alistair was pretty sure that she could count the number of times she'd been actually _ordered_ to do something on one hand. And in that brusque 'go now' way of Garevel's—that number was probably zero.

Varel had joined them as they ate and told them that since the guest rooms had been destroyed, they'd be given the rooms of Wardens who were currently away from the Vigil.

Alistair hadn't been entirely comfortable with that, since the Wardens weren't there to give their permission. He hadn't had many rooms of his own in his life, and a private room seemed…sacrosanct, somehow. Not like a room at an inn, or a bed in a barracks. He'd suggested that they just lay out their bedrolls in a common room somewhere.

Oghren had scowled at him, and Leliana had kicked him in the shin under the table—not all that effective on an armored man, but it had gotten her point across. Anders, who had a room of his own, and whom Alistair had thought might understand, looked baffled.

Lis just shook her head.

Varel got very serious then, and said that there was no Warden in the keep who wouldn't do far more for them than give up a bed for them, that they'd saved five Wardens, and brought to light a schism in their ranks so great that Wardens had been willing to kill Wardens, and that he'd cut a sickness from their heart.

In any case, as Alistair submerged himself in the hot water to rinse his hair, he was very glad that he'd accepted this generosity. He planed on writing a grateful note to the owner of the room—and buying him a new bar of soap, because there wasn't going to be much of this one left.

He had just climbed out of the bath and was drying himself when he heard a soft knock on the door.

"Just a minute." He pulled on his trousers and opened the door. "Lis! Come in." Alistair leaned out into the hall and looked in both directions. He couldn't see anyone.

Closing the door, he turned to her. "Are you sure it's a good idea for you to be here?"

Lis's eyebrows rose. "Why not?"

"Well…someone might notice. They aren't nobility, but there might still be gossip."

"Are you ashamed of me, Alistair?"

A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, taking the sting from the question, but he answered as though she was serious, nonetheless. "Maker's breath, no man could be, not a sane one with blood in his veins, and a brain between his ears."

He put his arms around her, pulled her to him, and slid his hands up her back. She was wearing a loose shirt, and trousers not unlike the ones he wore—it was wonderful to hold her without armor between them. "I'm concerned for you. Varel knows who you are, and if he recognized you, others might, too. This isn't camp and people talk. You're a Cousland, and I'm a—"

"Very foolish man. But I love you anyway." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, leaning against him and moving in a way that was…distracting. "We haven't been hiding who I am up to now, and there's no reason to start because we share a bed." She smiled at him, and then said, "This does explain why you were willing to turn down a chance for us to spend the night in a real bed, which made me want to shake you." The corners of her eyes crinkled as a grin spread across her face.

Alistair touched her cheek, and then pulled her over to the bed, sitting down and drawing her into his lap. "You shake me to the core any time I'm with you." He brushed his lips across her ear and kissed her temple. "In a very good way."

Lis shivered and let out a little breath. "A very good way, indeed." She turned so that she was facing him, her legs going around his waist and onto the bed behind him, raising a hand to his chest. "But before we do any more of that, tell me what Garevel wanted to see you about after dinner. Did he find out anything about Kallian's escape?

"Now? Really?" Giving an exaggerated sigh, Alistair pulled her closer and smiled. "You have the willpower of a knight commander. Good thing I taught you to be a templar."

He put his arms around her waist. "Well, they found three survivors in the courtyard, all badly wounded, but they'll live. Garevel had them fetch me when they were well enough to talk. Only one of the three heard anything—a soldier who fell close to the gate, and pretended to be dead. It can't have taken much pretending. Anders said he almost didn't make it.

"Anyway, he heard one of the Wardens with Kallian ask where she wanted them to go, and she told them to head for the Deep Roads entrance, that they would travel below ground to shake off pursuit.

"Then Velanna demanded that Kallian keep her promise to help her find her sister. Kallian tried to put her off.

"The soldier said that he thinks he was passing out then, because he missed something. Next thing he knew, Velanna was screaming at Kallian and saying that if she left, Kallian would have no mage.

"Kallian seemed to change her mind about whatever it was that made Velanna so angry, because Velanna calmed down and they all headed for the Deep Roads.

"After that, he passed out in earnest, not waking again until he was in the hall and had been healed by Anders."

Lis frowned. "Can the Deep Roads really be used so easily now? That wasn't the experience we had, and at the same entrance they planned to use."

Alistair shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe that was just our bad luck. Maybe we walked right into a raiding party. I've heard that there are fewer darkspawn near the surface now than any time in memory, but who knows if that will last, or what they intend. And fewer isn't none."

"So…are we going after her?"

Reaching up, Alistair ran his fingers through Lis's hair, newly washed, gleaming, and hanging down her back. He liked that—seeing it in a way no one else got to see. "No. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life chasing Kallian through the Deep Roads. If she's seen on the surface, then…maybe, but I think she's Weisshaupt's problem now. I'm done with it.

"It's time to settle some things. I have to go to Denerim."

Lis took his face in her hands. "We don't have to go back, Alistair. We can catch a ship in the harbor. We can go anywhere."

"You'd go with me? That means a lot. You have no idea how much." Taking her hands from his face, he kissed the palm of each. "I can't ask you to keep living like this, day to day, with no future."

"But I don't—"

"No, Lis." Alistair shook his head. "I want a chance at having a real home, without assassins coming out of the woodwork or having to leave town every time someone recognizes me, or I let something slip. This is the only way."

Dropping his gaze to her hands, he tightened his fingers around them and took a deep breath. "I'd like that home to be with you. If things work out with Anora. If you think you might like that, too."

He raised his eyes again, hoping he hadn't gone too far. His heart was pounding. "Do you? Think you might like that?"

Alistair tried to read her expression, but it didn't make him feel any more confident. She looked kind of sad. That was not the reaction he'd been hoping for. He probably shouldn't have been so…spontaneous. He'd been saying things without really thinking them through all day, blast it. He should have waited, he should have—

"Oh, Alistair…. I'd like that more than anything, but it's not worth it. I'd rather run forever than risk harm coming to you for a minute." Her hands rose to grip his shoulders. "Please, let's just go."

He wanted to agree. He wanted to leave tonight, knowing that he could be with Lis as long as she'd have him, but it wasn't enough, not for her. That wasn't the kind of life she deserved. He could be selfish and cowardly and take her away from her home, her family and her name, but it wouldn't be right—and he couldn't bear the thought of leaving without her. "I'm sorry, Lis. I can't do that. I can't ask you to do that. I won't."

Lis climbed off his lap and stood, staring at him.

"Lis?"

"Andraste's ass, Alistair, I hate it when the reasons I love you are the same things that drive me crazy. And _not_ in a good way."

"Uh…are we fighting now?"

"Yes. No!" She threw her hands up in the air and walked away from him. "I don't _know!_"

Alistair decided that he'd better not say anything. Or move. Or breathe.

Maker's blood, now he was really being a coward. He didn't want her to be upset. He had to say something. "Uh…. I never asked…I was too relieved…. Why did you all come downstairs before the explosion?" Oh, good thinking. Random questions, that will fix things.

Lis turned to face him, her hands on her hips. "We wanted to be close by, in case it came down to a fight."

"You…came downstairs so the three of you could take on every Grey Warden in Ferelden _and_ the entire Silver Order—for me?"

She crossed her arms and frowned. "Well, we thought Anders might help."

Alistair started laughing. He couldn't help it. Maker's breath, now Lis was really going to be angry, but that was the funniest, stupidest, most ridiculous, most wonderful thing he'd ever heard, and if he didn't laugh, he might cry. He laughed until he was gasping for breath.

Suddenly he was knocked backwards onto the bed, and Lis was straddling him, her arms on either side of his head, looking down at him. "Did no one ever tell you not to laugh at an angry woman?"

Still laughing, he held up his hands. "I know, I know! Please don't hit me. Even boys raised in the Chantry learn that young."

He took a deep breath, smiling up at her. "No one's ever tried to do anything like that for me before. Never. It was the stupidest idea I've ever heard, but that takes nothing away from the intent."

She smiled back at him, a rueful, sideways smile. "I'm willing to be stupid for you, Alistair."

Reaching up, he ran a finger over her lips, glad to see that smile. "And I for you. That's why I have to go to Denerim, you see that, right?"

"I see that you think you do, and that I can't change your mind. I don't have to like it, though, and I really don't like you thinking that you have to do it for me."

"For both of us, Lis. I don't want to leave if there's a way to stay. Being back in Ferelden is…. I just feel _right_ here. I'm doing this for me, too."

Alistair pulled her down beside him, brushing uncharacteristically disheveled hair from her eyes. "Whatever happens, it's my doing, and I'm the one responsible."

Moving closer, he leaned in to kiss her, his fingers in her tangled hair, pressing his body against hers, and then said, "I've never done this in a real bed. Or indoors, actually. Tents don't count."

Lis's mouth opened as if to speak, her eyes intent and her expression serious, but instead, her lips tightened for a moment before she said, "Then I'm glad it's with me." She put a hand to his jaw, then trailed her fingers down his chest. "We have all night to make up for lost time and if we break the bed, I'll buy the Warden a new one."

"It seems fairly sturdy. I think your purse is safe." Alistair smiled and slid his hands under her shirt. "But let's try anyway."


	26. Chapter 26

Note: The link to the illustrated version of this story-all chapters posted-is on my profile page.

* * *

__

_Darkness…. Too dark to see. Darkspawn corruption overwhelmed his senses…. They were all around—he could sense them…everywhere._

_Wait. Dim blue light. That noise…something scratching on rock. Rock falling. The blue light brightened. Lyrium. It was a vein, newly uncovered and bright. _

_He could see shapes. _

_Darkspawn._

_Packed together, writhing forward like maggots through a corpse, hands outstretched, digging with taloned fingers..._

_Panic flared in him. He could hear them—so loud—madness. His mind filled with chaotic thoughts without words, random images—screaming, claws, metal, blood…. Flesh torn and bodies broken...flayed skin and scattered bones. A humming that overrode it all. Purpose without end…. Vile need. Hunger, but not hunger. _

_Digging. _

_Moving._

_Blood…._

_Anticipation. _

Alistair was half out of the bed and reaching for a sword that he wasn't carrying before he realized that he was awake, that he'd been asleep, or even where he was. His body was slick with cold sweat, and his lungs were heaving. Maker's breath! What was that? It was like a Joining dream, only…worse. The way he'd seen their thoughts…. Andraste's mercy.

"Alistair? Are you all right?" Lis was sitting up and staring at him.

"I…. Just a dream. I'm fine." He ran shaking fingers through his hair. "Sorry, Lis. Go back to sleep."

"Go back to sleep?" Her eyebrows rose. "Alistair, you look terrible."

"I'm all right, Lis, really. It was just…a Warden thing. Nothing you need to worry about." He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. "Really. I think I'm going to go talk to Anders about it, though, because that doesn't usually happen so long after the Joining, not for most of us." He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "Go back to sleep."

"Well…if you're sure…."

"I am. I think I'm up now, anyway, but there's no reason for you to be."

"We're going to be talking about this 'Warden thing' later, but I'll leave it for now." Lis still looked doubtful, but she slid back down under the covers.

Alistair pulled on his pants and gambeson. He didn't bother with his armor, except for the boots, then opened the door quietly and slipped out into the corridor, making his way to the main hall.

It looked like most of the wounded had been healed enough to be sent to their own beds, but there were still five there on cots, attended by a soldier who didn't seem to be doing more than watching for signs of trouble. He was sitting on a stool, polishing a silverite breastplate, and glancing up at the injured soldiers from time to time.

Approaching the man, Alistair asked, "Is Anders around?"

"Sorry, ser. He went to bed some time ago. Told me to call him if something happened, but everything's been peaceful. Did a good job healing 'em, he did. You want me to tell him you were looking for him when he shows?"

"No, I'll just wait. Thanks."

Alistair walked away from the cots, back toward the door, and sat on the floor with his back to one of the pillars that lined the front of the alcoves. He stretched his legs out in front of him and tried to relax. He might be here a while.

* * *

Something…was poking him in the shoulder.

"Gah…." Alistair opened his eyes, squinting, and lifted his head. "Wha…? Oh."

Anders was squatting down in front of him, smiling. "Good morning, Templar-King. Why are you on the floor? Has Lis tired of you already and kicked you out?"

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Alistair yawned. "I had a dream."

"And was it a very, very scary one? Or was it a naughty one? Confusing for a simple Chantry lad like you. Better get Lis to explain that, not me. Unless it was really naughty and you scared yourself." The smile broadened.

Alistair grabbed the pillar and pulled himself up "Anders, shut up."

"Oh, testy!" Anders tilted his head, looking at him more closely. "What's wrong?"

"This dream…it was like the dreams you get after the Joining—sort of—and I stopped having those years ago." Alistair stretched tense shoulders. "I know some people never stop having them, but I did. The last one was before we went to Orzammar to get the help of the dwarves in fighting the Blight, and well before the Landsmeet." He looked around, making sure the soldier attending to the wounded was well out of earshot, then leaned closer and lowered his voice. "It can't be a coincidence that this happened so soon after…what Avernus did."

"Andraste help me, do you think you could look _more_ furtive?" Anders crooked a finger. "Come on. You're exhausted and I need my morning tea. We'll grab a couple of cups from the dining hall and go find a place where you can talk without looking like you're plotting something dastardly."

A few minutes later, they had tea in hand and were sitting on the floor in a little used storage area, leaning against some bags of medicinal ingredients. At least that's what Anders said they were. He'd put them here himself, and said that no one would think it odd to find him here if they happened by.

Anders took a sip from his cup, and glanced at Alistair. "You said the dream you had was 'sort of' the same as a Joining dream?"

Staring at the steam rising off his cup, Alistair said, "When I had them before, I could see the darkspawn, I could see the archdemon—I could hear the archdemon…talking to them, but I couldn't understand it. That was bad enough. This…."

He looked at Anders. "This time, I understood—parts of it, anyway. I could see what they saw, feel what they felt. I kept seeing things like images from their thoughts. Memories, maybe. Killing, bodies, blood…. It was horrible.

"There was a lot more that I didn't understand, and thank the Maker for that. I think if I had…. I wonder if that's what happens. At the end. You go mad from understanding them…or become like them, your thoughts and feelings buried under the weight of all that corruption.

"It's hard to describe." Alistair rubbed his eyes. "I could hear this…humming noise, and it was like it was calling them. They were crammed together in this tunnel—I couldn't tell how many—but I could tell they were digging…."

"Could you tell where they were?"

"No." Alistair shook his head. "No, I could hardly see. Mostly I just heard them." He looked at Anders. "You're sure I'm not more tainted? That there's no blood magic at work here?"

"I don't think you're more tainted. I can't tell, of course. We can't just look at people and know how far the taint has progressed, and thank the Maker for that. Can you imagine? 'Say, brother, you're looking a bit ghoulish today—how's that will coming along?' I'm fairly sure he was trying to remove the taint. We just don't know how successful he was. I can tell you with certainty that there's no blood magic at work on you, or lying dormant somehow." Anders put his cup down and steepled his long fingers, stretching them against each other. "How to explain this…."

He looked at Alistair, frowning. "The reason it's so hard to cure the taint—impossible as far as we know—is that it's part of you in a way that no poison is." Anders looked at his fingers again. "The taint changes you. It isn't just in you, its part of you, part of your body, and part of your blood. I have to speculate here, because I don't know what Avernus did, and I certainly don't know how he might have done it, but…to remove even some of the taint, he would have had to change you again, dismantling the part of you that was tainted, really. Then he would have had to remove as much of the taint as he could without killing you and put what was left back together, rebuilding all the elements of your blood and flesh. Doing something like that…. Well, it's possible—likely even—that things didn't go back together exactly as they started out. You might be…a little different."

Alistair stared at Anders, a sick feeling in his stomach. "Andraste's sword, Anders! You're scaring the piss out of me! What do you mean 'a little different?' I'm not _me_ anymore?" His eyes widened. "Holy Maker, what about my soul? Is that different, too?"

Anders raised his hands. "Your soul is safe, and that plus your mind is who you are, not your blood."

Taking a deep breath, Alistair let it out slowly. "Ironic, that." He put his cup down. "Okay, what are we talking about, then?"

"Again, I'm speculating, but I think that you may have to become accustomed to the taint all over again, because your body is just different enough that it's no longer adapted as fully as it was. I'd be willing to bet that the dreams stop just as they did before, maybe even sooner, since this will be less of an adjustment than going from entirely untainted to Joined."

"But why are the dreams so different? Why can I understand the darkspawn, and see their thoughts?"

"That, I don't know. Just guessing, I'd say that the taint in you is a little different, too. The Joining is a complex thing. We don't just drink darkspawn blood, there's archdemon blood, lyrium, and who knows what else. There could be magic involved, too. Any shift in the way all those things combine could have an effect."

"Maker…no wonder it hurt so much. I'm lucky I'm not dead."

Anders nodded. "Or worse."

"Oh, thanks for that. Now I can spend my nights imagining what I might have turned into."

"I'm sure you can find other things to do with your nights." Anders got to his feet. "I need to get back to the hall."

Alistair stood. "Anders, I…. We'll be heading to Denerim today. I just want to say thanks…for everything."

Nodding, Anders said, "I thought you might be. I'd planned to go with you, actually—just to see things through—but Varel is sending Rolan and I off to the Deep Roads to fetch Sigrun. He wants both her and Nathaniel here in case the First Warden turns out to have plans for either of them."

He smiled. "Luckily, I don't have to worry about that, although it would be fun to watch the templars go apoplectic if he named me Warden-Commander, with Warden Rolan as the first to go. He's the only templar in the Wardens besides you and not half as reasonable. I'm pretty sure he's here because they think I'm up to no good. Too bad we can't send him to Anora and keep you here."

The smile dropped from Anders's face and he put a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Be well, Templar-King."

"Are you ever going to call me 'Alistair?'"

Anders lifted an eyebrow. "Where's the fun in that?"

* * *

Lis was standing in front of the mirror when Alistair opened the door to the room they'd shared. She'd twisted her hair into a knot and was holding it up with one hand while putting pins in to keep it in place, her head bent forward.

"I didn't think you needed a mirror to do that."

"I don't, but it's easier." She glanced up to meet his reflected gaze and smiled at him.

He walked over and kissed the back of her neck, then leaned over her shoulder to look at himself in the glass. Turning his face to one side, he ran a hand down his cheek. "Do I look different to you?"

Pushing the last pin into place, Lis straightened and turned to face him. "What's going on with you, Alistair?"

He saw the concern in her eyes, the faint lines between them, and wondered if telling her about this would make her worry more, or less. Would it change anything? Would she think differently about him? He didn't feel different. Nothing seemed different except the dreams, but how did he know? How would he ever know? "Uh…. I'm not entirely sure."

She took his arm and drew him to the chest that sat next to mirror, pushing him to sit. Crouching down beside him, she put a hand on his knee. "Tell me."

Alistair didn't look at her. He looked anywhere _but_ at her. "I told you about what makes us Wardens—the Joining—how we drink a potion with darkspawn blood. Among other things.

"It takes a while to control it, to adjust to the taint. Until that happens, we have nightmares. Dreams where we see and hear darkspawn, and the archdemon, if there is one. We call them dreams, but…they aren't. Not really. It's a connection to the darkspawn." She had to find this creepy. It _was_ creepy.

"Some people always have trouble sleeping. I wasn't one of those, but last night…I saw darkspawn, and I heard them in a way I never had before. Anders thinks that when Avernus tried to remove the taint, he…changed something."

Alistair held up a hand and stared at it, making a fist, then stretching his fingers. "Me, the taint in my blood, maybe both. It changed the way I sense the darkspawn. He thinks the dreams will stop again, but I don't know what _else_ it might have changed. Anders says it's nothing to worry about, but…."

"Changed, are you? Let's see…." Lis laid her hand against his palm to palm. "Still bigger than mine, so you haven't shrunk." She reached for a spot where she'd discovered he was ticklish. "Ha! Still ticklish!"

He tried to fend her off, torn between relief at her reaction and irritation that she wasn't taking this seriously. "Lis, that's not what I'm—"

"Do you feel a burning desire to dress in fine clothing and have people kiss your ass?"

Alistair laughed. "No, I have no such desire, now or ever."

"A good sign." She stood, putting her hands on either side of his face and bent down to give him a long, slow kiss. "Mmmm…. That's still the same."

Lis looked at him closely, serious now, her hands still holding his face. "We have enough worries, Alistair. Don't look for more. You're the same fine man you've always been. Trust that Anders knows what he's talking about. I do."

"I'll…try. I will. It's just…. Blood magic. Maker, I hate it that it changed me in even the smallest way. I _hate_ it."

"I know." She kissed him again. "I can't be sorry that it means you'll live longer, though. I just can't, even if it is blood magic."

Lis took her hands from Alistair's face, and his gaze dropped. "There are worse thing than dying, Lis."

"I choose to believe this isn't one of them, no matter how it happened." She tugged on his arm. "Come on. Let's go get some food. You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

"You think _that's_ my problem? I'm peckish?"

"Well, it doesn't help—and I've never met a man who needed as much food as you."

Alistair let her pull him toward the door, realizing that she wasn't completely wrong. He was starving.

* * *

Walking through Amaranthine later that day, Alistair's mind was still on change, but on change of other kinds.

After breakfast they'd gathered in the main hall to say their goodbyes to Varel and Garevel, and Varel had welcomed them to return to the keep at any time. He also reminded Alistair that he would always have a place with them.

It was nice to hear, but now that the Blight was over, after everything that had happened, Alistair didn't think that was what he wanted. He found that he had little desire to return. Once, that would have been inconceivable, but now, when Alistair thought 'home,' it wasn't the Wardens he thought of.

Now he had different dreams, although he was superstitiously afraid to put those things into words. The closest he'd come was asking Lis if she could see them making a home together, and that had just spilled out, like he just couldn't keep it inside anymore.

He wanted there to be more to his life than fighting darkspawn until the day he died.

Maybe it wasn't the Wardens who'd changed. Maybe it was him.

He was pretty sure that if Kallian had made other choices than the ones he'd argued for—using the Anvil of the Void, making allies of the Dragon cultists, using blood magic—worse choices to his way of thinking, the Wardens would have accepted it without real complaint, just as they had accepted the burning of Amaranthine.

Alistair didn't think he could have done that. No, he was sure he couldn't have done that.

Knowing that the Wardens sometimes did extreme things, and actually being part of it, or responsible, were very different.

It made him wonder what might have happened to Ferelden if Wardens other than he and Kallian had been the ones to survive. He'd like to think nothing would have changed that much, but…he wondered, just the same.

Kallian might have made Anora queen and tried to have him killed. She might have spared Loghain against everything Alistair had believed in, but she'd ended the Blight.

She deserved credit for that. And Alistair was starting to think that his presence might have mattered more than he thought.

After thanking them again, Garevel told them that supplies waited for them by the gate to replace those they'd given away to Avernus's prisoners. He'd also mentioned that those rescued had been escorted to their homes while he and Kallian had addressed the Wardens.

Alistair hadn't even thought to ask.

How could he have forgotten about them so utterly? It hadn't occurred to him to ask. He'd just assumed that they'd been taken care of, putting all his focus on the need to bring Kallian to justice. He hadn't even thought of them in the aftermath of Kallian's escape.

That had shamed Alistair. The memory of it still shamed him, an ugly, hollow feeling in his stomach, nagging thoughts prodding him about his failings.

Maker, what if Garevel had just left them in the courtyard until after they'd dealt with Kallian? Those people would have been in the middle of the battle, and caught up in that explosion. It would have been a disaster.

"Look!" Leliana pointed down the road where a small group of people were gathering, coming out of a cluster farm buildings. "I think I recognize some of them. Isn't that one of the children we rescued—the girl? And her mother?"

It was, and soon the friends and family of the two were crowded around them, offering gifts of food that they could ill afford to lose, tearful hugs, and jovial slaps on the back.

Alistair turned down the food, especially the live chicken, but accepted a dusty bottle of wine. He didn't want the farmers to think that their gestures of thanks had been entirely rejected.

The young girl and a giggling friend busied themselves ripping late season daisies from a roadside ditch to make rustic bouquets, which had no few roots dangling from them.

They were shyly serious about the way they presented the offerings, and Alistair received his with equal gravity. He couldn't keep the smile from his face on seeing the expression with which Oghren regarded his posy, though.

He managed to keep that mood for the rest of the day, consciously avoiding darker thoughts, instead taking pleasure the company of his friends and the fact that they'd completed their tasks successfully, even if Kallian had escaped.

At least she wouldn't be making deals with the likes of the Architect and Avernus, not in the name of the Grey Wardens. And Avernus had finally been dispatched, as he should have been years ago. A win, no matter what.

It was harder to pretend that he wasn't worried once they'd made camp, and he was probably only fooling himself anyway. He'd kept their pace too quick and made their day far too long for no reason other than the doubt that gnawed at him, and the hollow feeling in his stomach. They'd reach Denerim tomorrow evening. Alistair couldn't take the uncertainty any longer. If he had to do this—and he did—he wanted to do it quickly.

Sitting around the fire that night, as they toasted their success, it felt like an ending, and Alistair wasn't at all sure that it was the beginning of something else, not for him. When he looked at Leliana and Oghren, he couldn't help but wonder if this was the last campfire they'd see together, the last bottle of wine they'd share. And when he looked at Lis…his heart twisted. Maker's breath, he hoped this wasn't the last night they'd spend together.

He didn't think he was the only one whose thoughts were so bleak. As the moon rose in the night sky, moments of laughter became few and far between, and the silences lengthened until conversation stopped altogether.

Alistair stood and looked at Lis, and then put out his hand.

She rose and took it, her fingers tight on his, and they went to their tent without a word.

When they made love that night…it felt like a goodbye, a desperate parting as much as a union. It felt like another kind of ending, even though neither of them acknowledged it.

Alistair pretended not to see the tears in her eyes as he held her afterward.

She didn't mention the ones that he had to blink away, staring up at the tent above lest they fall.

After Lis fell asleep in his arms, he watched her, memorizing the lines of her face, the way she fit against him as he held her, her scent, and the small sounds she made as she slept.

He fixed these things in his mind, knowing they might well have to last the rest of his life, however long that might be.


	27. Chapter 27

Note: This is the last chapter in Part One-thanks for reading, everyone, and an extra big thanks to those who've reviewed! It was quite thrilling to see so many people coming back each week to read!

Part Two will be up here, and on my LJ, as soon as it's written and the illustrations are done. That will be in approximately eight months, I'm guessing. If you read the story here only, you might want to go to my LJ to look at the pictures embedded in each chapter there. The link is on my profile page.

Thanks again and see you this winter with the conclusion of the story!

* * *

As they left the Imperial Highway at the exit by the Denerim gates, Oghren stopped abruptly. "Warden—" He shook his head. "This is sodding stupid, Alistair. You know that, right?"

Alistair tried for a smile, but he knew it was a feeble effort. "So this is what it takes to get you to use my name." He put a hand on Oghren's shoulder. "I know coming here confirms some people's ideas about my intelligence, believe me. I even find myself agreeing with them at this particular moment—just a little."

Dropping his hand, Alistair continued down the stairs. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

As they made their way across the city, he seemed to see things with an unusual clarity, noticing every detail. The way an apple vendor's red hair was lit to a shade like fire by the ruddy light of the setting sun. The way the sound of blacksmith's hammers and the wheeze of the bellows echoed in a small square. The almost human expression of glee worn by a dog as it ran wild circles around a laughing boy. All the small moments of daily life took on added importance.

Anora must have known they were coming, because her guards asked no questions. They weren't kept waiting as Alistair had expected, but were shown directly to the throne room.

The huge door swung open, and he could see her on the high dais, standing in a regal pose before the throne.

Taking a deep breath, Alistair squared his shoulders and went forward without hesitation, stopping at the base of the stairs that led up to her. "Anora."

Her lip curled slightly. "Really, Alistair, I would think that you might find yourself able to address me as 'Your Majesty' at a moment such as this."

"Would that make a difference?"

"No. It would show _some_ understanding of what's appropriate in your situation, however." She gestured to a courtier who waited behind her, and the man placed a leather pouch in her hand.

Making her way gracefully down the steps, she gave it to Alistair.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Don't you want to know what happened?"

"I know what happened. I know everything that happens, Alistair. I make a point of it." She turned and went back to the top of the dais, then faced him again, her expression still and unreadable. "You should remember that."

Anora raised a hand. "The blood mage is dead, and Kallian's actions as Warden-Commander need no longer concern me. In light of this, the order for your death will continue to be rescinded." She dropped her hand. "You may go."

Her gaze turned to Lis. "Perhaps you would like to stay, Elissa, to recover from such a long and tiring journey. The sister of the Teyrn of Highever is more than welcome, always."

"Thank you, Your Majesty, but that won't be necessary."

"Are you sure? The Antivan ambassador is here, and he is most amusing. A feast is being prepared, and I'm sure you would enjoy yourself. If you're worried about clothes, I could lend you something."

Lis shook her head, looking slightly puzzled by Anora's largesse. "Perhaps another time."

Anora's mouth tightened, and the silence stretched out before she said, "As you wish."

Lifting a hand, Alistair's eyebrow rose and he frowned. "So…that's it? We're done?"

"Did you think I would give you a teyrnir?"

"I…." Alistair shook his head. "No, that's not what I thought." He stared at her, waiting for the gauntlet to drop, but she said nothing else. "Well…I'll be off then." He stared at her for a moment longer, still waiting, then said, "Okay! Leaving now…."

Alistair turned and strode from the room. He didn't stop until he was halfway across the large square in front of the palace, then looked at his companions, baffled. "Well, that wasn't what I expected. "

Oghren grinned. "Guess even you can get lucky sometimes, eh?"

Relief warred with disbelief in a way that made him made Alistair twitchy. "Not this lucky. The Maker doesn't like me this much."

Frowning, Lis said, "You're right—not about the Maker, I'm certain he doesn't hate you, but that was too easy. Where were the instructions on how Anora wanted you to behave? The warnings, the restrictions on your movement and actions, the demand that you swear fealty before the Bannorn?"

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Oghren and Leliana. "She let us walk out of there as though she didn't have to worry about Alistair ever being a problem again."

Leliana didn't seem to be paying attention. She was looking around the square, at the roads leading out. "There are a lot of soldiers near the two roads out of the square. They are trying to look relaxed, but some of them keep looking at us."

"Of course they do. Now _that's_ what I expected." Alistair watched the soldiers, who did seem to be paying a lot of attention to them. "But why not arrest me in the palace where it would have been easy?"

"Perhaps she means to provoke a confrontation, something she can give the Bannorn as a reason, so it doesn't look like she's breaking her word, or make you disappear quietly with no link to her. We let it be known that you were here at her summons, and that against her instructions." Leliana pointed to a space between two buildings. "I remember that from…another time. We can get to an alley through there."

Alistair nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

They moved through the narrow space into the alley behind, and from that alley into another. The last of the day's light slipped away, darkness aiding their escape. When they saw soldiers, and that was a frequent occurrence, they backtracked through winding side streets to make their way around them. Eventually, they found themselves in a part of the city that had been virtually abandoned since the Blight, full of ruined row houses and fire blackened shops.

As they approached the gate that had once served this area, their way was blocked by a group of men wearing the armor of Anora's private guard. More filled the street behind them, preventing retreat.

The guard captain who led them grinned. "Good as sheep, you are, and the soldiers, the best dogs a man could find."

Leliana gave a little cry of dismay. "I'm so sorry, Alistair. I should have seen that they were herding us to these empty streets."

Grimacing, Alistair said, "You aren't the only one, Leliana."

The captain raised his hand. "Alistair Theirin, you are under arrest by order of the queen."

"No!" Lis drew her sword.

"Don't!" Alistair stepped toward Lis, raising his hand. "There's no help for it, Lis."

"There is, Alistair!" She launched herself at the captain. He seemed to be expecting no resistance, and was on the ground, incapacitated by the violence of Lis's attack in but a moment.

"Lis, don't!"

Her sword came down, delivering the killing blow, and Lis turned on the next of his men.

Blast it! Defying Anora's private guard was an act against the queen, let alone killing one, even for a Cousland. Oh…blast it, Lis! Now they had to kill all of them, or Lis's life would be worth no more than his own.

Alistair drew his sword and attacked. They were outnumbered, but far more skilled than these men.

He could hear Leliana and Oghren battling the guards behind them, so Alistair pressed forward, he and Lis fighting side by side. What was Anora thinking, sending palace ornaments after people like them?

Very shortly, the guards they fought were dead, and Alistair swung around to see the last of the men Leliana and Oghren fought make a break for safety, running for his life, yelling for help. This part of the city was empty, who did he think would—"

Fire and blight! _This_ was the confrontation Anora wanted! _This_ was the trap, not the arrest. Maker's blood, if these men were the bait, there must be soldiers waiting at the gate, and in every alley around them. They had to get off the street before the ones who were surely meant to catch them in the act arrived.

Leliana raised her bow, which told Alistair that she was way ahead of him. She wasn't one to shoot a fleeing man in the back, otherwise.

Pulling back her bow string, she let the arrow fly after the man disappearing into the night, only his shouts of alarm giving away his location—she missed. The yelling continued, and Leliana drew another arrow from her quiver.

"No, there's no time!" Alistair kicked the boards securing a doorway nearby and opened it, and waving them in. "_Come on_—hurry!"

He led the way up half collapsed stairs, and crouched beneath an open upper window, listening and watching, trying to get a feel for where their enemies were. At first he could only hear voices, running feet, the jingle chain mail….

Then he saw torches—they lit the street below and beyond. There were a lot of soldiers, so many…. They'd never get past them all, and even if they could, there were more at the gate. Oh, Maker….

Dropping one knee to the floor, Alistair swung around, looking at Lis first, and then Leliana and Oghren. "No one's getting out without the soldiers being drawn away—not just the ones in the street but the ones by the gate, too."

Oghren glanced out the window. "Sod it, the place is crawling with 'em. He ducked down again. "We could use some of those explosives Kallian had right about now."

"We've only got one thing that all of those soldiers would go after." Alistair's mouth twisted. "Me."

Lis grabbed his arm. "Alistair, no! You can't. That's crazy! "

Alistair reached out and touched a finger to her cheek. He couldn't let Lis go to Fort Drakon, he couldn't let Leliana and Oghren be taken for trying to help him. He was the one they really wanted, he was the one Anora had all but murdered her own guards for an excuse to kill. "Sanest thing I've ever done."

"There must be something else we can do." Leliana's forehead was furrowed, lines that weren't usually apparent marking her brow. "Just let me think for a moment, Alistair. Just wait for—"

"There's no time. They've already started searching the buildings around us. And…you know there's nothing else, Leliana. You know that. The only other thing we could do would be light this building on fire, and I'm really not sure how that would help. Not to mention the fact that we might burn half the city down." Alistair looked out the window again. The soldiers were getting closer. "I wish there was another way, but…there just isn't."

"We can fight, blast you!" Lis's eyebrow pulled down and her eyes were tight and filled with unshed tears. She looked at Oghren. "_Tell him!_"

Oghren rubbed a hand across his mouth and closed his eyes for a moment before looking at Alistair. "I can't do that. He's right. One of us has to draw them away, or we all die together in a blaze of glory. I'm okay with the glory."

Lis pulled swung back her arm as though she was going to hit Oghren, but Alistair reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Lis…." He shook his head. "Don't. One of us _does_ have to draw them away, and I'm the one who has to do it."

Dropping her arm, he put his hands on her shoulders. "You know how I feel about you. I'm glad we had the time we did. Don't... forget about me. " He took out the pouch of gold that Anora had given him and pressed it into her hand. "You'll need this."

Tears were running down her face.

Alistair brushed them away and kissed her wet cheek. "It was worth it. Remember?"

"No. I won't let you die, Alistair. "

"You say that like I'm giving you a choice. " Alistair stood and swung himself over the window ledge, dropping onto the roof of the wider first floor. He crouched low, not wanting them to see him yet. The soldiers were making so much noise, yelling back and forth to each other, they didn't hear him, thank the Maker!

He moved along the rooftop, away from the gate, until he got to the edge. There was only a couple of feet, maybe three, between this roof and the next. Even so….

Alistair backed up a little so he could run at it, then leapt for the next roof. His feet skid and he started to slip, throwing himself down flat to keep from sliding over the edge.

The soldiers heard _that_.

"This way! They're on the roof!"

Alistair looked back at the gate. Most of the soldiers were running to join the others who gathered below, but a group of them still waited there. Some held torches, making the area too bright for there to be any chance of sneaking out.

Pulling his arms in, Alistair gathered his will, trying to forget the men running toward him, the ones breaking into the building on which he stood, focusing on nothing but smiting the soldiers at the gate.

He'd never tried to take out such a large number. Maker, let this work—let me save them….

Alistair spread his arms, light gathering above him and around him until the whole roof, and the street below were lit with a blinding white light. It raced outwards, crashing down on the soldiers at the gate in a brilliant column, a thick cloud of debris rising into the air. Soldiers were hurled so far away that some hit the sides of adjacent buildings, others landed further up the street. None rose from the ground, and their torches guttered in the dirt.

As the gate was plunged into darkness, Alistair turned away, running along the roof—making as much noise as he could. He could hear cursing below him, and then feet on the roof behind him.

Time to go.

He ran to the edge, looking for the best place to get down, where he had some chance of landing well enough to keep running.

There—a ruined wagon, its wheels sagging and axle shattered, but close to the roof and enough to break his fall.

Holding onto the edge of the roof, Alistair dropped into the wagon. The soldiers were almost on him as he jumped over the side, but he evaded their grasp and ran back toward the palace faster than he'd known he could run.

He made it down a back alley and across a small square before they managed to grab him, pulling him down by sheer numbers, like wolves pulling down their prey.

As rough hands pulled him upright, half blinded by blood running from a cut on his head, a voice came out of the dark. "Where are the others?"

Alistair just smiled. They were long gone.

* * *

What a difference a few hours could make. Of course, both times Alistair came before Anora, he was sure something bad was going to happen—and it turned out that he wasn't wrong—but this time, instead of walking through the throne room in his fine armor, he was dragged in wearing his ripped, stained gambeson, tattered pants, bare feet, and shackles.

Not that it mattered. It didn't really matter what you died in, did it? And this was worth dying for. He had faith that Lis, Oghren and Leliana would be able to evade Anora's soldiers, just as he'd evaded them after the Landsmeet, and Loghain's after Ostagar.

Anora probably wouldn't even care, once he was dead.

Alistair didn't want to be dead. He really, really didn't. He'd known this was the only way, and he'd been willing to do it without hesitation—he was glad he had, but…that didn't mean he wanted to die.

No matter. He pretended the cold knot in his stomach wasn't there and straightened his back. That hurt, he had no few bruises, but if he was going to die, he would do it as a Grey Warden, and a man who had almost been king.

He lifted his chin and met Anora's gaze straight on. "Why, Anora? I did what you wanted. Why did you do this?"

"I?" Anora tilted her head. "You attacked my guard, Alistair."

"Oh, please, tell the Bannorn what you want, but we both know you went out of your way to make this happen. You had no call to arrest me once you lifted the order for my death and those men you sent after us…. They were never intended to survive. They were completely outclassed, and you knew it. They were bait. I wonder if they knew that."

"And yet, you slaughtered them. But wait, that's on Elissa Cousland's head, isn't it?"

"Leave her out of this, Anora. You got what you wanted."

"And now I have leverage with Fergus Cousland, too." Anora gave a slight smile. "Not my original intent—I did try and keep her here—but it may prove useful."

Alistair's eyes narrowed, but he didn't comment on that. There was no point, and Fergus could handle himself, as could Lis. "Was this why you brought me back? Was it all a ploy? Kallian, Avernus…just excuses?"

"I couldn't let you roam free, Alistair. Eventually, you would have wanted to return and could have presented a challenge to my rule. Believe it or not, as you choose, but I was open to a solution other than this. You ignored my every instruction, however, behaving with a complete lack of discretion and awareness of your place.

"You not only announced yourself as a Theirin, but made it known that I had brought you back and why. You let the commoners latch onto you as some kind of…protector. You handed out gold, the great benefactor.

"You're a simple fellow, Alistair, and likewise simple minds are drawn to you. You made yourself a threat with every action you took, seemingly without awareness that you did so. I've already had to break up a treasonous cabal in South Reach whose goal was to make you king."

"Worst, when I specifically warned you to limit your involvement with the Couslands, you decided to share your bed with one. Your behavior at Vigil's Keep made that more than clear. I hear you put on quite a show for all the Wardens. Did you really think I would allow for the possibility of a Theirin-Cousland child? A potential heir to the throne of that kind of lineage?"

"_What?_ How could—" Alistair shook his head. "Never mind. I begin to see that you have spies everywhere, even under my bed." His eyebrow rose, and he didn't even try to hide the sneer that curled his lip. "How very Orlesian of you. Your father would be so proud."

Anora's cheek reddened, and her lips compressed tightly.

Alistair felt a brief moment of victory. Might as well go out on a high note. "Let's get on with this, shall we? Where's the executioner with the big, shiny sword, and a pike to put my head on?"

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you, Alistair. As long as you're alive, I have a measure of control over the Couslands and Guerrins, should that prove necessary.

"You're going to spend the rest of your life in a ten foot cell at the top of a tower in Fort Drakon, and trouble me no more than Kallian. This has worked out rather nicely."

She waved a hand and the guards pulled Alistair from the room.

This time, when they transported him to Fort Drakon, it wasn't with a mere handful of guards escorting him and they'd taken precautions. This time his hands were shackled, and this time, they chained his legs together before taking him outside.

They were taking no chances.

They put a cloth bag on his head so he couldn't see, and shoved him into the back of a cart. That cart was escorted by a large contingent of soldiers. He knew that because he could hear their boots ringing against the cobblestones, and the sound of so many feet marching echoed off the walls of the buildings in the square.

He wasn't escaping this time, and if they took this much care in Fort Drakon, he wouldn't be escaping from there, either.

Maker's blood, Anora was even more of a cold, calculating bitch than he'd given her credit for—and he'd given her a lot of credit. She's played him as easily as Kallian. He was only slightly comforted by the fact that Leliana had been fooled, too—and she'd been trained in that sort of duplicity.

Alistair let his head drop back against the floor of the cart with a thud. This was a possibility that hadn't even occurred to him. And thanks to Avernus, he'd get another ten years or more in prison. Lis was clearly wrong, the Maker didn't like him one bit—and had an ugly sense of humor.

Andraste's mercy, what would happen when the taint finally took him? Anora would never let him go to the Deep Roads to die with honor. She probably wouldn't even let him have a knife to end it himself. Blast it, he couldn't even tell her why he'd need one without revealing the one thing he absolutely couldn't. He shouldn't have told Lis, even though he trusted her implicitly. Anora? Not a chance.

Oh, Maker, this was worse than dying. Much worse.

But…no regrets. He would have done far more.

The cart came to a stop after a shorter time than Alistair expected, but then people tended to get out of the way of very large groups of armed men and women, especially when they looked especially serious and diligent, which these probably did.

He was dragged out of the cart and into a building—probably Fort Drakon—his arms held tightly by men at each side.

Alistair tried to memorize the number of steps he took—the turns, and the flights of stairs—just in case he ever managed to escape, but there were so many that he lost track. Eventually, he heard the groan of a heavy door being pulled open and the hood was pulled from his head.

The guards removed the shackles from his arms and legs then pushed him into a cell, slamming the heavy door behind him.

That was a bad sound—and the key turning in the lock was worse.

He turned to look at the place where he was to spend the rest of his life. Andraste's flaming sword. Bars and a cot with a single blanket. That was it.

Well, he should try and feel grateful for the cot. Most prisoners slept on the cold stone floor. And, Maker, was it cold in here. He could practically see his breath.

Across the room from his cell was a large window—Tevinter design…. Yes. He was in Fort Drakon, a place from which few emerged once imprisoned, although he and Kallian had once escaped. But that was a whole different kind of imprisonment.

This time, Alistair was locked in the top of some tower and had his very own guards. They were huddled around a small fireplace on the other side of the big open room that held his cell, trying to start a fire.

Alistair tried not to think about the impossibility of escape or the number of years he was likely to be in this cell. He tried not to think about the fact that he would never see Lis again.

Instead, he leaned on the bars and stared out the beautiful Tevinter window at the night sky. He looked at the stars and imagined that he was in camp, lying on his bedroll and looking up at that same sky, free and surrounded by friends.

Okay, that was a bad idea. Alistair dragged the back of his hand across his eyes.

He went to the cot and sat down carefully. It didn't look like it had been built for someone of his size. No, it was sturdy enough—it didn't wobble under his weight, anyway.

Maybe he should try sleeping. Maker's breath. How things had changed when he looked to sleep for refuge.

Alistair lay down and pulled the blanket over himself. One good thing about being locked in an empty cell at the top of Fort Drakon, entirely alone—there weren't many things he could dream that would be much worse.

And he still had no regrets.


End file.
